


Never Still in Darkness

by dreaming_back_to_this



Series: In Darkness [1]
Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ, Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Psychic Abilities, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Scenes of torture, hurt changmin/max, semi-crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 05:11:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4291995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreaming_back_to_this/pseuds/dreaming_back_to_this
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Max and Jae are good hunters, and there aren't many things they can't kill one way or another. When they run into one of the rare exceptions to that rule, they're forced to seek help from an outside source. The Winchesters aren't sure how much help they'll be, but they're always up for an interesting challenge. And this case is nothing if not interesting.  (Takes place mid/late season 2-ish.)</p><p>*Note: I have this labeled as a TVXQ/Spn crossover, but you do NOT need to be familiar with TVXQ.  I basically just stole the characters from an AU I wrote to see how they would fit in the Spn universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

__

    _A house is never still in darkness to those who listen intently; there is a whispering in distant chambers, an unearthly hand presses the snib of the window, the latch rises. Ghosts were created when the first man awoke in the night. ~J.M. Barrie_

"Jae! Down!" Max yells, and Jae has barely consciously processed the words before he's on the ground. Max thrusts his hands forward, a glare of concentration focused over Jae. Jae shifts around to look over his shoulder only to startle slightly at the sight of the werewolf they'd been hunting frozen in mid-lunge just behind him. He hadn't even heard the thing approach. Shifting away, he makes sure he's clear of the beast's out-stretched claws before standing up.

The strain of holding the creature in place shows on Max's face, sweat beading on his forehead and dripping down the sides of his face. Something like this normally wouldn't affect him so bad, but he'd had to pyro another were's body only an hour or so before and was still recovering from last week's poltergeist attack; his energy levels were running on the low side. "Any time you wanna take that shot, hyung," he grits out from between clenched teeth.

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry," Jae replies, brushing himself off then pulling the silver-loaded handgun from his belt. Two quick pulls on the trigger, and Max releases his hold to let the now-dead monster drop. Jae's gut churns the slightest bit when he realizes it's now laying almost exactly where he'd hit the ground a few moments before. Shaking the feeling off, he waves a hand at the corpse. "Can you...? Or do I need to dig out the lighter fuel and matches?"

Max shakes his head. Jae doesn't like how rapidly he's still breathing but gives Max a minute to settle himself. Any longer than that and he's burning this thing the old-fashioned way, no matter what protests Max may make. Luckily, it doesn't come to that. Max calms himself down a moment later, and with a short wave of his hand, the body lights up.  


~*~~*~

_Changmin can feel the dark edges of unconsciousness finally pulling at him when the door opens for the first time in what seems like hours. A stretcher rolls in, the man strapped onto it horribly familiar to Changmin, the same man they'd been "persuading" Changmin to hurt - to kill - for a week now. This time, though, he's not the only one._

_A second stretcher follows shortly after, on the other side of the two way mirror that protects anyone observing the room, and Changmin's heart falls to the floor. The bed holds a small girl, no older than seven or eight, strapped down and gagged. Once both gurneys are situated within Changmin's sight and the guards walk out, the doctor walks in to the other room. "You've been surprisingly stubborn, Changmin, so we thought we'd try something new this time. Perhaps hurting you isn't the answer to this problem. Maybe you need some... other incentive to cooperate."_

_He pulls a long, silver scalpel from the pocket of his lab coat. Light glints off the curved blade on the end; something dark and selfish inside Changmin feels relieved that it won't be used on him. Instead, the doctor approaches the girl's bedside and holds her hand down. "One of our younger students here, obviously, but she's not doing as well as we'd hoped for her. And her powers aren't focused in her hands anyway, so this won't particularly affect her performance." He smirks at Changmin. "I'll give you sixty seconds, Changmin, and then she loses a finger. Another minute after that, she'll lose another. Starting now."_

_Tears pour from the girl's eyes as her gaze darts around, terrified and desperate. Changmin can barely process the situation, can't quite figure out what's really going on, if this isn't simply some kind of really awful dream. Sixty seconds isn't a lot of time, though, and Changmin feels his heart jump with the girl's muffled scream as the knife slices through her flesh. He's sobbing; she's sobbing. For a long moment, he can't separate himself from her. They merge into one mess of panic and pain and fear._

_And in that long moment, another sixty seconds passes. Her pain spikes again, and Changmin feels it like his own, his empathic abilities fusing his experience with hers. The doctor looks up from the girl's bloody mess of a hand to stare at Changmin. "That's two now, Changmin. Thirty-five seconds until the third."_

_Changmin wants to yell, tell him to leave her the hell alone, but his body refuses to form any sound. Instead, he chokes and coughs again, blood from his scream-ragged throat falling from his mouth. His heart thuds against his chest, and he has a brief hysterical wonder that maybe this is what a heart attack feels like. Then his seconds are gone, and the girl screams again._

_It doesn't take coherent thought, not when his body's ramping up for fight-or-flight yet physically unable to escape. His power surges up, races through his body then out through every pore, and Changmin can't even think to direct the raw energy. It knows what it has to do to save itself; nothing Changmin tries now will be able to hold it or control it. He watches it, invisible to everyone but him, shoot across the room and into the man on the other stretcher. The man arches off the bed, mouth open in a silent scream. He twitches once then falls back down, unmoving, eyes wide and fixed._  


~*~~*~

Max wakes with a start, jolting up hard enough for the safety function on his seat belt to catch, and Jae glances over at him before turning his eyes back to the road. They're only about 20 minutes from the next motel, and Jae would really rather avoid totaling another car when they're so close to sanctuary for the night. "Everything okay, Min?" He tries to keep it casual; Max tends to get a bit testy when Jae attempts to baby him. Not that that generally stops Jae. For now, though, he only wants a straight answer rather than a verbal battle.

Max nods, running a hand over his eyes to clear the sleep and the last vestiges of his dream. Nightmare, really, but that's nothing unusual. "Yeah, fine. Just the typical flashback nightmare b.s." Jae reassures him on a fairly regular basis that his nightmares are normal, that he'd been through an unimaginably traumatic experience. Life. Whatever. Three years away from the Centre, though, and Max thinks the nightmares should really lay off already. At least they only come every month or so now rather than every night. He catches Jae's second look and rolls his eyes fondly. "Seriously, hyung, I'm fine. It really was just the same thing again."

Max - still Changmin at the time, before they'd had to flee Korea and adopt more English-friendly names - had met Jae almost immediately upon his escape from the Centre. A couple hours free and wandering aimlessly since he had no idea where in Seoul he could possibly go - he'd never known the city beyond the glimpses he'd gotten through the Centre's upper-level windows - and he'd run into the older man on the street. Or, rather, had been run into. Jae had taken one look at Max's dirty, bedraggled, barefoot self and insisted on taking the boy to his place to take care of him.

Max hadn't intended on staying, not at first. It was strange, though, how safe and peaceful Jaejoong could make him feel when he'd been taught his whole life that strangers can't be trusted. Eventually, he'd given up any ideas of ever leaving Jae. Not long after that, the Centre had come for him again and this time dragged Jae in along with him. That had been their biggest mistake. They'd hurt Jae only once before Max had all the incentive he'd needed to super-power their way out. The two of them took off for the U.S. after escaping and had been driving around the country for the two and a half years since.

And even after spending so long speaking the local language, English almost as natural to them as their native Korean at this point, Max still can't quite drop the habit of calling Jae 'hyung'. He's never really tried to. Or, to be even more specific, he's never really had a reason to want to. Jae is his big brother, in every sense of the word except blood, but the phrase simply doesn't sound as natural in English

The hunting had been a pretty natural progression for them once they got to the States. Jae came from a generations-long family tradition in the business, and Max had a near-encyclopedic knowledge of supernatural creatures thanks to the Centre's department on the subject. While Max had been a "student" of the organization's psychic powers division, that hadn't stopped him from distracting himself with the supernatural section's extensive library. Between that knowledge, his own powers, and their distinct lack of legal status in their new country, it had seemed to be the logical step.

Their time in the business had been relatively easy so far. Between Max's powers and Jae's easy affinity with weapons of any kind, they hadn't faced much that put up too great of a challenge. He has a feeling, though - and Max knows better than to discount his gut feelings - that that fact is about to change. Perhaps it's that very feeling that had brought his nightmares screaming back after almost two months of relatively peaceful sleep.

Jae pulls their car into the motel parking lot and rolls to a stop in front of the manager's office. Hopping out but leaving the car running, he jogs inside. A few minutes later, he's back with keys to a first-floor room on the end. They'd learned early on that those rooms make for the fastest escapes when necessary, and they'd quickly gotten into the habit of requesting them when possible.

They settle into their room, duffle bags tossed on a ratty chair by the window, and Max crawls straight into the second bed and falls asleep. Jae can't blame him. The younger man hadn't drifted off in the car until after 1 then had woken from his nightmare no more than an hour after that. Now, closing in on 3 a.m., he should be asleep. Jae should be, too. For whatever reason, though, Jae isn't as tired as he should be.

He slouches down into the second chair in the room and unfolds the paper he'd snagged from the newsstand in the office. They haven't settled on a new hunt yet, have no real destination without a target, and after two days of driving in a generally northwesterly direction, he's getting a bit a antsy. The second headline on the front page almost immediately catches his eye. After scanning the article over, he resolves to bring it up with Max in the morning. The description - victims seemingly drained dry, left as blackened husks but with no visible burns or other marks - is straight out of the scary stories of his childhood, and if he's right about the monster involved, things are about to get difficult.  


~*~~*~

A week later, Jae wishes with every fiber of his being that he'd been wrong. Every single aching, bruised, sore, beaten fiber. They'd gone in to the hunt as prepared as they are for any hunt, reviewing the lore - most of which they remembered from childhood stories - and arming themselves appropriately. They'd been confident. And then they'd been taken off guard.

The creature was fast, darting through the trees and staying just in the corner of their eyes. When every one of his attempts to pin the thing down failed, Max assumed nothing more than that it was too fast for even his powers to catch it. Then it was suddenly in front of him. Max shoved his hands out, hoping to force it back, but the monster stuck stubbornly in place. Max had then attempted to light the thing up, burn it down. But his fire seemed to extinguish as soon as it touched the creature.

The monster had swiped a giant, clawed hand at him then, and Max had managed - barely - to duck out of the way fast enough and roll clear. Then Jae was there, pumping the thing full of rock salt from the shotgun. When that had only caused the beast to stagger back a few steps, he'd pulled out his handgun with the iron rounds and unloaded a couple into the creature's chest. He barely had time to realize how ineffective the bullets were before he was sailing through the air and crashing into a nearby tree.

Realizing that his powers were, for whatever reason, completely useless directly against the monster, Max had formed a quick circle of fire around the thing. If nothing else, he could at least keep it contained until they could make an escape. He watched long enough to be sure the creature couldn't cross his fire before rushing to Jae's side, helping the older man to his feet and supporting his weight as they made their way back to their car.

Now, stumbling back into their hotel room a week after that initial meeting, Jae and Max both collapse onto the first bed they meet and sprawl side by side across the mattress. Max wipes the blood away from his eye, the small cut over his left eyebrow more annoying than worrisome, and turns his head to look at Jae. "We may have to call for backup."

Grabbing a clean napkin left over from their fast-food lunch off of the nightstand then pressing it to the cut over Max's eye, Jae curses quietly in a mix of English and Korean - with a smattering of Japanese thrown in to cover all his bases - and reluctantly admits that Max has a point. The creature has proven remarkably resistant to every new method they've tried and has killed three more men as they've been floundering. They need someone with a fresh perspective, someone who may have access to info they don't.

Sliding his phone from his pocket, Jae dials a few of the contacts he's picked up over the years. One name becomes a running theme in every conversation: Bobby Singer. Even better, they're only about a half day's drive from the man's home base. Jae hauls himself up to scribble down an address, phone number, and some driving directions. "Got it. Thanks, Ethan. ... No, yeah, we'll definitely make sure to call and give him a heads-up first. ... Yep." He ends the call then looks back at Max. "Rest up, Min. We'll head out first thing tomorrow morning."  


~*~~*~

_"This doesn't have to be so difficult, Changmin. In fact, this could all be over now if you'd merely stop. being. so. stubborn."_

_Strapped face-down to the surgical table, drugged and powerless, Changmin tracks Dr. Phillips's movements around the room through sound alone. He attempts to dredge up some kind of fear, anxiety, anything, over whatever plans the doctor may have for him now. It doesn't work. He's not sure whether it's because he's so drugged out of his mind at the moment or whether he's become so used to the pain - it's been years, he's pretty sure, if only because of how tall he's gotten, though he'd really lost any sense of time after the first couple months - that he can't bring himself to be scared of it anymore._

_He doesn't know what it is inside of him anymore that keeps him from giving them what they want. He should. He really, really should. After being beaten, raped, tortured in every imaginable sense of the word, he has nothing left to lose. Nothing else to hold out for. Except the fact that he's gone this long, and maybe if he holds out a bit longer, they'll finally give up and just kill him. Every time they drug him up and strap him down, he prays that today's the day. This time they'll torment him into unconsciousness, and he won't wake up again._

_But whether that day is now or not, he still has to deal with whatever new punishment they've come up with before he gets that release. He's not sure what else they could possible do. He's always had a fairly vivid imagination, but even he's run out of ideas._

_Dr. Phillips, apparently, has not. Changmin's skin jumps at the first touch of cold metal against his back, and then his shirt is being cut away with surgical scissors. The two sides of the cloth are spread apart, exposing the mostly unmarred skin. Oh, he'd been hurt there before; Changmin can't think of a single spot on his body that hasn't been hurt at some point over the last few years. For whatever reason, though, they've never left scars. He has a feeling that fact's about to change._

_"Did you know, Changmin," Dr. Phillips says, laid-back and conversational as he always is during these sessions, "that ranchers rarely use heat to brand cattle anymore? Now they use a technique called freeze-branding." A pause, and Changmin strains to angle his neck so he can see whatever Phillips is doing._

_"Liquid nitrogen," the doctor explains as he slips on a pair of thick rubber gloves. He studies the curved handles hooked on the edge of a blue plastic barrel before selecting one of the metal pieces and pulling it up, revealing a flat metal bar on the end of a long rod. "Have you ever touched a piece of freezing metal with your bare skin, Changmin? The way your skin will stick slightly until the metal warms enough to release you? How the metal will take parts of your skin if you pull away too quickly?"_

_Changmin tries not to imagine where this is going, tries not to think of where that metal bar will go. But the possibilities run through his mind, no matter what he tries not to think of, as the doctor walks around to stand beside him. "Liquid nitrogen boils at negative 196 degrees Celsius, becomes solid at negative 210. This has been kept in its liquid form, somewhere between those. So compare that to your sticky skin problem as a child. Just imagine it."_

_He starts to imagine; his brain almost tries to comprehend it. Then the metal touches his skin, vertically over the line of his spine. The mind-numbing cold hits him first, a cold so intense that it burns. He can hear the sizzle as his warm skin attempts to negate the cold of the metal bar. And then there's nothing but pain. A pain he never could have imagined, may never even completely comprehend, will never be able to describe._

_The doctor pulls the bar from his skin, Changmin's not sure how long after the initial contact. His skin tears away with it, and Changmin writhes even through his bindings: relieved that the cold is gone, agonized over the new pain and the pulsing burn left behind. Tears pour down his cheeks; Changmin gasps out a cry when he can force air into his lungs again._

_"We wouldn't have to do this, Changmin," the doctor repeats. The rod in his hand clatters to the floor as he walks over to select another. He shuffles them around for a moment before pulling one out, holding it up to display the design. Changmin recognizes the infinity-and-six-pointed-star symbol that marks everything that comes out of the Centre. And Changmin knows that, if they touch that metal to his skin, he will be forever marked as Centre property. Forever belong to this Hell on Earth. "It's interesting, isn't it, freeze branding? Leaves the same scar, the same permanent physical marks, as a hot brand. And yet, I think the overall impression is somehow more… profound, don't you? With the cold?"_

_He walks around again, clutching the new metal piece. "All you have to do is give in, Changmin; stop resisting, and this can all end right now."_

_Changmin sobs, harsh and choking gasps, "No no no no no..." no longer sure if he's responding to the doctor's demands or the prospect of that metal touching his skin again. The doctor doesn't wait for him to clarify. The Centre logo contacts his back, a few inches below the first one, and Changmin's world dissolves into pain once more._

_Changmin can't keep track of how much time passes through the haze of pain. It's been hours, definitely. Maybe days. He's sure the drugs wore off long ago, but he can't focus enough to actually do anything with the powers he may have regained. Phillips burns him at least three more times after the Centre's brand before leaving the room; Changmin's whole body courses with the pain and he can't distinguish new from old. He'd screamed himself hoarse, his throat tearing with the last one, and something warm and thick and coppery had trickled out of the corner of his mouth when he'd coughed._  


~*~~*~

For the second time in a week, Max jerks awake in an attempt to escape the memories. He almost imagines he can feel the old scars on his back throbbing, though he tells himself it's mental rather than physical. Shaking his head, he brushes off Jae's attempts to ask about it. There's nothing new to be said for flashbacks they've talked through a thousand times before. He rubs a hand over his eyes, hoping to ease the pressure behind them of what he knows to be the beginnings of a serious tension headache.

He apparently woke at exactly the right time, though, he notices as the car makes its way through the auto salvage yard. The old house, when they get to it, stands in stark contrast to the towers of twisted metal. Parked in front of the house is an old pick-up truck and a big, black boat of a car. Max couldn't even start to guess what kind; that's not the kind of knowledge he's ever had the luxury of picking up.

An older man, grizzled and bearded with an old trucker's hat on his head, (Max assumes this is Mr. Singer, though only Jae has spoken to the man and would therefore know for sure.) stands in the doorway of the house, staring them down as they climb out of the car. He gestures to the shot glasses on the porch as they approach, and Max would bet money the glasses are a test, not refreshments. Most likely holy water.

A younger man with short hair and light eyes - Max can't quite tell if they're blue or green from this distance - appears behind Mr. Singer holding a shotgun probably containing rock salt. He and Jae down the shots without hesitation and watch as both men relax the slightest bit. Not all the way, but at least they can rule out one danger.

"Have to say," Mr. Singer drawls out when they finally get to the door, "you boys ain't at all what I was expectin'. Thought you'd be older, at least."

Max half-smirks, knowing how testy Jae can get when someone comments on their looks - whether it be their age or the "pretty-boy" faces. He tunes into Jae's thoughts long enough to hear exactly what he'd been expecting. _Because, you know, age is the perfect indicator of ability and all. What the old man really means is that we're just too pretty for his tastes. Freakin' small-town shigol saram..._ Jae starts to square his shoulders, and Changmin decides it's time to step in before any of those oh-so-colorful thoughts escape out of his hyung's mouth. With a quiet, "Jae" muttered under his breath, Jae visibly relaxes with a disgruntled pout.

"You never let me have any fun," Jae grumbles in response, but Max knows that's the end of Jae's almost-tirade.

Stepping forward, Max addresses Mr. Singer and the still-unnamed man at the door. "I promise we're older than we look. Besides, sometimes looking as harmless as we can turns out to be an advantage more than anything. No one ever really expects to get their ass kicked by a skinny Asian kid."

The younger man behind Mr. Singer scoffs. "Sorry, but I'm having a seriously hard time imagining you guys kicking anyone's ass."

Max acknowledges the sentiment with a one-shouldered shrug. They could believe what they want. He even admits that, without his powers, he probably would be fairly useless in a physical fight. Jae, on the other hand, looks thin - almost waif-like - but is all hard, defined muscles and broad shoulders under those clothes. And he's not afraid to put those muscles to work when necessary.

When the two on the porch realize they won't get any further response, they exchange a quick look then Bobby waves the two boys into the house. "Well, suppose you boys oughta get in here then. See if we can identify whatever this creature is that's got you stuck."

"Identifying it's not the problem," Max replies as he walks up the stairs and into the house, Jae protectively close behind him. "We know what it is. The problem is that it's been mutated somehow, and it's a long way from where it's supposed to be."

Another man - younger even than Shotgun, possibly around Jaejoong's age, with long, shaggy hair - stands inside the house, a silver knife at the ready. Not waiting to be told, Max grasps tightly enough to break the skin and leave a thin line of blood across his palm that he then holds up for inspection. Jae repeats the process, and the three men relax again. Not completely, never completely as a hunter, but enough that Jae and Max understand they're no longer being considered an immediate threat.

Mr. Singer ushers them into the living room, Max settling into a corner of the couch knowing that Jae will want to be next to him, between him and any possible dangers. Jae's over-protective even at the best of times, and this latest hunt has put him on overdrive. The other three men perch on various chairs around the room. "Assuming you already know who I am. Other two are Sam and Dean. Which one of you did I talk to before?"

Sam and Dean. _Winchester_ , Max's brain helpfully supplies. They're practically legends in the hunting world, and Jae and Max have run into the names a few times in their years on the job. Jae raises his hand in a small wave in response to Bobby's question. "That would be me. Jaejoong, but you can call me Jae."

"He does speak," Dean mutters; Max isn’t sure if he intended to be heard or not. Either way, Jae shoots him a cold glare.

"Mongchong-ah," Jae hisses back in response. Max lays a calming hand on Jae's arm and watches as Sam does the same to Dean's shoulder.

It doesn't prevent Dean from pointing a threatening finger at Jae, returning the icy glare. "I have no idea what that means, but I don't like the tone."

Jae opens his mouth to respond - most likely to inform Dean exactly what he'd been called - but Max interrupts him with a soft but firm, "Hyung."

"Really?" Jae snaps, his glare morphing from the icy rage at Dean to simply frustrated as he turns to Max. "Really, Changmin. I just have to let him insult me to my face?"

Changmin shakes his head. "You insulted him back already, in a language they don't understand no less. We came here for their help. Let it go before your mouth gets us into another difficult situation that I have to bail us out of."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Jae flops back against the couch. Max recognizes it for the sulk it is, and he knows it's Jae's way of caving. When Max thinks it may be safe to relax, though, Dean tosses out another comment. "Well, seems like the kid's the smart one in that partnership."

Turning his own glare on Dean, Max almost retorts when Sam steps in instead. "Well then it's a lot like this one, isn't it? Seriously, dude. Shut up. You don't have to antagonize them." Dean sits back in his own sulk, and Max catches Sam's eye. They trade a look of long-suffering and mutual understanding. "So you're Changmin then?" Sam asks.

Max nods. "Yep. You can call me Max, though. Usually easier for people to pronounce."

"Great," Bobby finally speaks up. "Now if you idjits're finally done with your pissing contest, can we get down to business?"

Giving him a short, sharp nod, Max starts on filling them in. "We've been in northern Illinois for the last week or so, investigating a creature that's been leaving bodies all around over there and into Iowa. Not only bodies but blackened, dried-up husks of bodies."

"Dude, you guys took that case?" Dean interrupts. "We were gonna head out tomorrow to look into it." He almost sounds like he's pouting at the loss of the hunt, and Max shoots him a half-smile.

"We had a feeling we already knew what it was," Jae picks up the story. "We wanted to do a bit of investigating to make sure we were right. We were, but unfortunately, this thing's not acting the way it should. It doesn't respond to the traditional methods, and unlike most creatures of its type, it's only targeting a very specific group of people."

Sam's brow furrows as he takes the pieces of information they've been given and starts mentally sorting them. "What group of people, exactly?"

Clenching his jaw, Jae fights the urge to glance over at Max, knowing the other three hunters would pick up on it for the tell it is. He doesn't trust them enough yet, not for Max's secret. He knows there are plenty of hunters who utilize psychics to hunt down the beasts they kill, but he knows just as many who shoot first and ask questions later. "Psychics," he replies in a clipped tone. "Or rather, people with general psychic powers: clairvoyants, sensitives, telekinetics, telepaths."

"So what is this thing?" Dean asks, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "You obviously know if you're that familiar with its normal eating habits."

"It's a yuryeong," Max replies, pausing to find the words in English to explain.

"Bless you," Dean chirps, taking advantage of the lull.

Rolling his eyes with a small amused smirk, Max attempts to clarify the term. "It comes from Korea, thus why we said earlier that it's not where it's supposed to be. In English, I guess you could call it a... a phantom. A monster. I don't know; there's really no good translation for it. It takes the appearance of a normal human until feeding time, then it changes into its creature form and sucks out the... life force, I guess, from the victim."

"Sounds kinda like a shtriga to me," Dean interjects.

Max nods, knowing the truth in the statement. "They are a lot alike, definitely. Unlike a shtriga, though, you should be able to kill a yuryeong at any time once you recognize what it is whether it's feeding or not. Usually."

Bobby chimes in this time. "You said it's not reacting to traditional methods. What have you tried so far?"

"All the lore we could find said iron or silver, fairly typical for a monster, but we figured out the hard way that either the lore was wrong or this particular one is resistant," Jae answers. "It can materialize like a ghost, so we tried rock salt as well. It's a good distraction, but it doesn't smoke the thing like it would an actual spirit."

Max waits for Jae to explain their other methods, but the older man makes no motion towards doing so. He can understand why, really, but he knows now isn't the time to be withholding information. "We also-"

"Min, no," Jae interrupts. It's his no-nonsense voice, the don't-argue-with-me voice. Max almost always listens to that voice. Almost but not quite always.

"They have to know, Jae. They won't be able to help us much if they only have half the story." Jae scowls but doesn't reply again, and Max turns back to the other three. "I'm psychic. Jae handles the weapons while I generally rely on my powers. This yuryeong, though, is resistant to those as well. Not only resistant. I think it actually may have some kind of negation power so I can't use any of my powers directly against it. Or at all, if I get too close to it. It's... disconcerting, to say the least."

The other three share a look. "Now when you say 'powers'..." Dean prompts, trailing off.

Max fills in the blanks for them. "Telekinesis and pyrokinesis mostly. Telepathy and empathy. Some light clairvoyance, but that's one I've never been able to get a handle on and control. It just kind of shows up when it wants to."

Sam had tensed up as soon as Max made his confession, and Jae watches Dean give his brother a look from the corner of his eye. Sam either doesn't notice or chooses not to acknowledge it, full attention on Max now. "This is going to be a really personal question, but I have to ask. Are both your parents alive?"

Max blinks at the question that seems to come from nowhere. Then he thinks about the question itself, and he scowls. "Don't know. Don't really care, but I know that doesn't give you the information you want. Last I heard of them, I was five years old watching them drive away. They seemed fine then."

Surprise shows on all three of the older hunters' faces, Sam's tinged with guilt for bringing up the obviously sensitive subject. As he opens his mouth to apologize, Max softens his expression and dismisses the apology with a wave of his hand. "It's okay, Sam. You had no way of knowing, and it's been so long ago now that I shouldn't let it get to me still. But, well, there it is."

He and Sam share another understanding look, and Max thinks he could really get to like the older hunter. As much as he loves Jae like a brother, there are some things his hyung simply can't relate to. Max gets the feeling that wouldn't be an issue with Sam. Now if only they could get Dean and Jae to stop shooting each other death glares.  



	2. Part 2

As soon as Dean walks into the kitchen, Jae starts muttering in Korean. Max rolls his eyes rather than telling him to stop, so Dean knows it can't be anything too bad. Still. Even though it's been a constant occurrence over the last three days, pisses Dean right the hell off every time. They've developed a routine to it now, and Max, Sam, and Bobby seem more amused by it than anything else.

And, not that Dean will ever admit it out loud, he finds that he's getting an odd sort of enjoyment from it as well. Kinda like screwing with Sam in a way but with fewer bitch faces and "I'm not stooping to your level" silences. So, in some ways, even better than screwing with Sam. "You know there are classes for that, right?" Dean snipes at Jae's muttering. "Learning English and all. Or maybe you just need medication for the imaginary voices you're talking to."

"Won't be anything imaginary about my fist in your face," Jae shoots back with a glare. It's not his best, not by a long shot, but he'd been up for most of the night with Max's nightmares so he's not exactly on top of his game. The resurgence of Max's nightmares, oh-so-coincidentally in conjunction with their involvement in this stupid yuryeong case, has Jae more worried than he cares to admit. Something's nagging at him about it, but he can't quite figure out what that something is. His snark-fests with Dean actually come as a welcome distraction. Probably why he instigates so many.

Dean hadn't missed the bruise-like circles under both Jae and Max's eyes. None of them had missed the sounds of muffled yells, like they were escaping through a clenched jaw, from the living room last night where Jae and Max have been camping out on the floor. So he can't be faulted for being a bit easier on the jackass, really. "Anytime you wanna try, pretty boy."

And there's that fighting spark back in Jae's eyes again. Dean smirks, congratulating himself on a job well done, while Max reaches out to restrain Jae from lunging over the table. "Grab your coffees, boys," Bobby says as he wanders in, steadfastly ignoring the atmosphere in the room. "Got plenty of research to get back to." Dean and Jae groan, almost in unison, then shoot each other glares. Because, really, God forbid they ever share any kind of opinion.

~*~~*~

Jae scowls as he flips through yet another dusty, old book. While the other three had initially thrown themselves into the research, true geeks that they are, neither Jae nor Dean particularly enjoys this part of the job. (One of the few things they _would_ agree on, if they allowed themselves to agree on anything.) Add in the fact that Jae has trouble understanding some of the more antiquated or overly-academic English, and it's overall been a miserable three days since they'd arrived at the salvage yard.

Even Sam, Max, and Bobby seem to be getting weary of the constant reading while being no closer to an answer.

Busy typing another word into his phone's translator - it's not perfect, but at least it gives him a general idea for the most part - Jae starts slightly when Max slams his book shut with a huff. "This is getting us nowhere," the youngest growls out, waving away the dust plume that had erupted when he'd closed the book. "Even when we do manage to come across anything that even remotely resembles the yuryeong, it only tells us what we already know about it. Traditional lore isn't gonna help us here."

"You got any better ideas then?" Bobby half snaps at him. Only half, because as much as he doesn't want to cede defeat, the kid has a point. His generally trusty books aren't gaining them any ground on this thing.

Max sighs, resting against the back of his chair and tilting his head back to stare up at the ceiling. "We need to use what we know about creatures in general and brainstorm how this thing was changed. Maybe from there, we can figure out something that will work against it."

"You have a theory already," Jae states, studying Max's profile. It's not hard to see Max has something big on his mind to someone who knows the younger man as well as Jae does.

Max nods with a grimace, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Something obviously messed with this monster somehow, morphed it into something beyond the traditional yuryeong. And when you consider the people it's been targeting..."

Jae suddenly understands exactly where Max is leading with this, and a heavy weight settles in the pit of his stomach. "Shit. You think the Centre is behind this somehow?"

The other three perk up at that, latching onto the unfamiliar reference. Neither Jae nor Max pauses to explain further, though, as Max replies to the question. "It makes sense, doesn't it? A creature from Korea all the way in the U.S., changed in a way that would take some massive supernatural know-how, specifically hunting down psychics. I'm assuming Phillips has this thing on a leash somehow."

Jae scowls at the name, eyes burning with rage, and Dean finally loses what little patience he'd managed to scrape up. "Anyone care to share with the class? What the hell is the Centre, and who the hell is this Phillips person?"

Finally lowering his head to look at them again, Max contemplates his answer for a long minute before starting. "The Centre is an organization based in England, but with a branch in Seoul, for paranormal research. They have different departments: psychic powers, supernatural creatures, and paranormal phenomena among others. I was a... student, if you want to call it that, of the psy powers division. When I mentioned my last memory of my parents was them driving away? That's where they left me. I lived there for almost 13 years, from the time I was five until right before my 18th birthday. Phillips, the sadistic bastard, was the doctor in charge of my training."

"And you think he's behind this? Why?" Bobby questions.

"Because I'm a very valuable commodity," Max replies with a wry smirk. "You have to understand, psychic powers are hell on the body physically. Most people, they have one or two powers max and they suffer nosebleeds, crippling migraines, exhaustion. Eventually their bodies burn out completely. We don't have the life expectancy of a normal person. For someone like me, with as many powers as I have at the strength they are, I wasn't expected to even make it to puberty. It flies in the face of all their research, and so I became their little pet guinea pig. I'm too important for them to let me go. Phillips would have both the motive and the necessary resources to bind this thing to him and let it start hunting down psychics to find me."

Jae fights off the urge to punch something as he listens to Max's explanation, to the flat tone in his voice that covers up all the raging emotions Max struggles with. "Which means Phillips has figured out we're in the U.S. And considering how close we were to where the yuryeong started its attacks, he probably even knows our general location."

When Max meets Jae's eyes, Jae can make out the barely-restrained fear simmering under Max's carefully controlled facade. Jae itches to reassure him, to promise him that Phillips will never hurt him again, that they won't let anything happen to him. He can't, though. He promised a long time ago to never lie to Max, and making promises he isn't sure he can keep definitely falls under the banner of lying.

~*~~*~

Not exactly a chatterbox even before the big revelation, Max falls virtually silent in the aftermath. He takes to wandering around the salvage yard, long walks at any hour of the day or night, mostly only speaking during their marathon sessions of theorizing and planning.

Sam knows there's more to his story, more they haven't been told, but as much as he'd like answers to his many questions, he doesn't want to upset Max any further. He's developed a bit of a soft spot for the younger hunter in the few days Jae and Max had been staying with them, and he's starting to figure out what Dean means when he rags on Sam for his puppy-dog looks. Max's big eyes would definitely fit into the 'kicked puppy' category, dark and expressive.

When he's out on his own meandering walk a couple days later and spots Max sitting cross-legged under a shade tree in a corner of the yard, Sam hesitates only a moment before striding over and taking a seat next to him. Max spares him a quick glance from the corner of his eyes before continuing to stare into the distance. "You wanna talk about it?" he asks lightly.

Max gives him a one-shouldered shrug and bites his lip. "It's... complicated," he replies quietly without looking at Sam. "Or maybe not, really. I guess it's actually pretty simple. Phillips terrifies me. I don't think I've ever been as scared of anything as I am of that man. The fact that he knows where I am, that he has this personalized monster out on a quest to find me... People are dying because of it, but the thought of facing him... God, I don't even know."

And Sam thinks he can relate in a way, slightly, maybe, because isn't he in the same kind of situation with the YED? Though the fact that Max's bigger fear is the human, not the monster, is rather telling. It definitely falls under Dean's saying about dealing with monsters versus people.

Sam looks at Max for a long time, wondering exactly how far he can go to satisfy some of his inherent curiosity. He doesn't want to upset the kid, (And how weird is it that he can be the one calling another hunter that for once?) but he has so many questions running around in his head. Finally, he decides to just go for it. "What... did he do to you? While you were at that place, that 'Centre'."

Max scoffs, a bitter smirk on his lips, as he continues to stare out in the distance. "The better question would be what _didn't_ he do to me?" Pausing, he eventually turns to looks at Sam, studying and scrutinizing, and Sam gets the feeling it's some kind of test. Satisfied by whatever he finds, Max continues, "It wasn't too terrible at first. Like I said earlier, I wasn't meant to live past puberty, so they really didn't pay any extra attention to me. But then I did. Not only did I live, but I actually got stronger as I got older. They started making demands when I hit about 13. I always said no so they attempted to... persuade me. I managed to escape a couple days before I turned 18, and that's when I met Jae."

Hearing the other man's name reminds Sam of another thing he'd been meaning to ask them about. "Jae... You call him something else sometimes; I'm assuming it's a Korean word. A nickname or something?"

Back on neutral ground, some of the tension drains from Max's posture, and he turns to face Sam again. "Yeah, 'hyung'. It's... not really a nickname. It translates to 'big brother' basically, but it's not only used for family relationships. It's kind of an honorific term, used from younger guys to older ones that they're close to."

"Only between guys, though?" Sam questions.

Max makes a small hum of agreement. "'Hyung' specifically is only between guys. There are other terms for a guy to call a girl or for younger girls to call older guys or girls. It's kind of complicated, I guess, but it's so ingrained growing up in Korea that we really don't even think about it."

Sam nods. "That makes sense. I'm sure there's plenty about American culture that's the same way. Stuff that we do or say because we just know it, but it'd be really difficult to explain to someone who didn't grow up with it."

"Gee, geeking out over culture lessons together?" a voice teases from behind them. Sam recognizes the familiar drawl of his brother's voice instantly, but Max whirls around to watch the older hunter approach. "Who'da thunk it, really?"

Sam scowls, silently warning Dean not to scare Max off. While there's no tension between them like with Dean and Jae, Max has never really been able to fully relax in Dean's presence. "Shut up, jerk," is all he says out loud as Dean gets closer.

"Bitch," his brother shoots back with a bright grin, message obviously received. Max watches them with a small smile on his face, and Dean takes a moment to study him. Dean prides himself on his ability to read people, but even after nearly a week, Max is still very much a mystery. He trusts, for the most part, that the kid's no danger to them, but Max is holding far too many secrets for Dean to let his guard down completely the way Sam already has. Shaking himself from his observations, Dean reminds himself of why he'd come out in the first place. "Get a move on, dorks. Bobby's calling a group meeting."

~*~~*~

"What's up, Bobby?" Sam asks when they're all settled in various spots around the living room. Bobby sits behind his desk, a not-quite-large cardboard box sitting open in front of him. Sam and Dean take up the couch, Jae sits on a chair next to Bobby's desk, and Changmin contents himself with folding himself cross-legged on the floor next to Jae's chair. When he'd first sat down, Dean had stared at him for a long moment, contemplating how a guy that tall with limbs that long can sit on the ground so gracefully. (And does it make him racist to think it might be cultural?)

"Couple things," Bobby replies, resting a hand on top of the box. "Just got these in, some books that should actually be able to give us some answers. Problem is that a lot of them are in Korean, so we'll need a translator."

Jae shrugs. "Not really so much of a problem with me and Min here," he counters. "So what's the other thing?"

"We've got a hunt. I'd normally pass it on to someone else, but the body count's rising, and the next closest hunter is over a day's drive away," Bobby explains.

"So what're we lookin' at exactly?" Dean asks.

Bobby shrugs. "Not quite sure yet. Possible black dog maybe. Four bodies in the last five days found in the woods, mauled beyond recognition and partially eaten. Entirely possible the 'partially eaten' part could have been done by local scavengers, though, so even that's not giving us much extra info."

"Oooh, you should take Min along then. Black dogs are kind of a specialty for him," Jae announces, a note of bragging pride clear in his tone.

The other three blink at him for a second before turning their gazes on Max. "How in the world can black dogs be a 'specialty'?" Bobby questions.

Max ducks his head bashfully and offers a half-shrug. "They're pretty easy, really," he declares. "Pin 'em down and light 'em up, and you're good to go. Really, that first part is the hardest with them."

"Alright. Well then," Dean starts, recovering from Max's matter-of-fact statements, "if Max goes on the hunt, guess that leaves Jae here to help with the translating. Sammy? Assuming you're gonna want to stay here and geek out on the new books?"

Sam looks back at his brother and grins. "If at all possible, yeah."

Dean gives him a little nod then turn back to look at Max again. "Looks like it's me and you then, kid."

"I do hope you don't plan on making that a habit," Max replies simply. Dean's only answer is a broad, mischievous grin, and Max heaves a long-suffering sigh. Sometimes, a lot of times, he really hates being the youngest.

~*~~*~

The location had been about a four hour drive from Bobby's house, though Max was pretty sure it should have taken at least another hour over that. Not that it worries him much. For all their animosity towards each other, Dean and Jae are remarkably alike in a lot of ways - driving habits no exception.

After checking into a motel in close proximity to the forest they'd be scouting, they'd then made quick work of examining the bodies and talking to any witnesses. All said and done, both had been comfortable with calling this a black dog and hiking into the woods.

Dean takes point, wandering along the man-made path until he picks up a trail and turns off to head into the wild of the woods. Max follows along behind instinctively as Dean picks out tracks and broken branches, used to falling into step behind Jae the same way. It's strange, Max thinks, how Jae and Dean can be so similar in so many ways and yet constantly at odds with each other at the same time.

Darkness gradually claims the forest as the sun sinks lower and fails to break the canopy of the trees. Pausing, Dean turns back to check on Max. "You still good back there?"

"Fine," Max states with a quick nod. He reaches into his bag and pulls out two flashlights, handing one over to Dean. "Might as well have them ready. I get the feeling it'll get full dark a lot faster than we expect."

Dean accepts the light with his own nod, agreement and thanks in one, before turning back to continue searching down the trail. It's different than if it were Sam here, of course, not quite as instinctual, and yet it's still easy in its own way. He has a brief, paranoid thought that maybe Max is just reading his mind and that's how the kid seems to fall in place so easily, but he brushes that idea away pretty quickly. If he's choosing to hunt with Max, he'll have to choose to trust him, too.

They follow the trail for another half hour or so before they start hearing the rustling of leaves, close but not close enough for them to actually see anything. Every time they seem to get close to it, it moves away but only far enough to stay out of sight. Almost as if it's waiting for them to follow, as if it wants them to leave the trail. Dean debates for a long minute before reluctantly deciding to play the thing's game.

"That's not a black dog," Max whispers as they listen to the creature moving through the trees just outside of their visual range again. The fact twists his stomach as all of his muscles tense up; they are so not prepared for this. "We need to leave. Now."

Dean glances at him, eyes wide. "What? Why? How do you know?"

"Because I can't get it pinned down," Max replies, voice miraculously steady despite the shaky fluttering in his chest. "Whatever it is is either resistant to me or able to throw me off. I've only known two things able to do that, only one of which can move that fast, and Sam and Jae are still researching how to fight it back at Bobby's."

Before Dean can formulate a reply, the creature enters the opposite side of the clearing and simply stands there. Watching them. Dean takes the chance to get a good look at the beast. The thing seems to be right around their height, maybe 6 feet or so, gray-white hair tied up in some kind of Asian topknot. Black veins run through skin lightly shaded bluish-gray, and the long hands that hang at its sides taper off into long claws.

Take away the claws and the coloring, though, and the monster's features are disturbingly human. Dean pictures it with Max's skin color and black hair and realizes the creature could pass as any college-aged Asian kid. Before he can really pursue that train of thought, though, the thing is out of sight again.

Max grabs his arm and starts pulling, and Dean turns to nod at him. "Yeah, I know. Let's get out of here."

They turn around, ready to haul ass back down the trail they'd come in on, only to come face-to-face with the creature Dean had barely finished studying. Moonlight glances off the sharp claws as the thing swipes a hand at Max. Dean pulls the kid back, attempting to keep him clear, but he still hears a small grunt of pain as the hand comes down.

Raising his shotgun, Dean quickly unloads a shot in the creature's chest. It staggers back, blue-black blood appearing in a few spots, but it's not nearly enough damage to take the thing down. Max flicks his wrist, though, and the monster is suddenly surrounded by a circle of fire. Dean stares at the creatures trapped inside the blazing ring for a moment, contemplating the challenge this particular beast presents. "Come on," Max interrupts his thoughts, tugging on Dean's arm with the hand not clamped around his bleeding side. "That fire's not gonna last forever."

Dean nods, turning away from the pacing monster. He takes a quick moment to survey Max's condition - his fingers are covered in blood, but it seems to be oozing rather than flowing, and his eyes are pained but clear - then leads the way back towards the car.

They maintain a steadily rushed pace back out of the forest, as fast as Max's injury will let them move, not wanting to take any chances that the creature could escape before they're clear. Max keeps a hand pressed to his side, but his step never falters. And if Dean had held on to any doubts about Max being tougher than he appears, those quickly dissolve during their hasty retreat.

~*~~*~

Max hisses as he moves into the motel room, the long gashes wrapping around his torso pulling and stretching as he gingerly slips out of his t-shirt. It's such an instinctual move, routine from working with Jae for the last few years, that he doesn't even think twice about it. Until he hears the complete lack of movement from behind him and it hits him. Jae isn't here. He spins around to face Dean, who raises his eyes from where he'd obviously been studying Max's exposed back.

"Those aren't hunting scars," Dean states. He's well acquainted with hunting scars: bullets and claws and knives. The designs and patterns covering the kid's back match none of those. "What are they?" His tone is controlled, even and quiet.

Max hesitates for the smallest moment, eyes shifting side to side as if searching for a way out of this conversation. "Brands," he finally says, just as quietly. "Some from hot brands but most from liquid nitrogen freeze burns. The star symbols in particular mark me as property of the Centre."

The air sticks in Dean's chest at the soft, resigned statement. It's pretty much exactly as he'd assumed when he first saw the smooth scars but somehow so much worse at the same time. Branded. Like property. Like cattle. "How old were you?"

Sinking carefully onto his bed, Max offers a one-shouldered shrug. "I'm not sure exactly," he replies. "Kinda lost track of time after a while. It happened a few times until I got out, but my best guess for the first time I was... I dunno, maybe 16 or so."

Dean had had his fair share of - sometimes serious - injuries at 16 from hunting with his father. These weren't injuries, though. This was torture, plain and simple, inflicted on a kid who had refused to say yes to the bad guys. Sam would probably know what to say in this situation, something sympathetic and intelligent, but hell if Dean could come up with anything himself. So, instead, he oh-so-subtly shifts the conversation with a gesture at Max's side. "So, what's the damage?"

Max offers him a half-smile at the subject change. On Sam, the expression would have more than likely pissed him off since Sam's half-smiles in situations like this tend to be full of "I know what you're doing, and I pity your inability to deal with emotional moments." The little bitch. Max's half-smile, though, is some mix of grateful and exhausted, and Dean's starting to see where Jae's crazy protective streak (and coming from him, that's saying something) comes from.

"It looks worse than it is," Max replies, raising his arm to examine the wounds snaking around his side again. "Think my jacket absorbed a lot of the impact. They've all mostly stopped bleeding so I think I only need to clean them out and cover them."

Dean crosses the room to get a look at the wounds himself, not entirely trusting the kid to come clean (mostly due to the fact that both he and Sam have the bad habit of downplaying their own injuries) and not willing to risk Jae's wrath should Max bleed out or develop an infection overnight. He seems to be telling the truth, though; all of the gashes have, for the most part, stopped bleeding and shouldn't require any stitches. "Need any help?"

Max takes a second to look at the slashes again, as much as he can see anyway. They start low on the right side of his chest and follow his ribs around under his arm to his back. "Yeah, probably," he admits. "I'd be able to do most of it, but I can't see where they end to make sure they're cleaned properly in the back."

Nodding, Dean claps a hand to Max's shoulder. "Why don't you head to the bathroom, start washing 'em out? I'll get the first aid kit and meet you in there." He turns away without waiting for Max's answer, already heading for his duffel in the corner, but he hears the movement as the kid stands and follows his directions.

Max has the blood and dirt cleaned from his front and side by the time Dean gets into the bathroom with the kit, and Dean takes the rag to finish the job. It has to sting like a bitch, but Max hardly makes a sound as Dean clears away the rest of the mess then starts to smear antibiotic cream over each slice. "It's kinda nice," Dean observes, only half talking to the younger hunter, "not having to fight to get an injury taken care of. Sam always insists he's fine or, barring that, that he can take care of it himself."

Another half-smile, and Dean wonders if Max ever outright grins. Laughs even. "I used to do that," Max replies quietly. Everything about him is quiet, really. "It used to drive Jae crazy. I guess... I was just so used to taking care of myself, y'know? When I first started living with him, it never even occurred to me that he would want to help, let alone that maybe I should ask him to sometimes. It took him a long time and constant nagging to break me of that. Now it's more habit than anything to be that honest. Plus, well, have you ever seen him handle his knives? I'd kind of like to stay on his good side."

Dean snorts at the statement, in total agreement. As good as Jae is with a gun (proven on the make-shift shooting range in Bobby's backyard), the guy's downright scary with a blade in his hands. Finally finishing with the cream, Dean pulls out a roll of gauze and starts wrapping Max's chest. When he's satisfied that he has all the wounds covered, he cuts the gauze off the remaining roll and tapes down the end. "Alright, kid, think you're done."

Max scowls as he turns to face Dean. "I'm not a kid," he retorts with a glare, arms crossed over his chest, and Dean can see so easily the petulant smart-ass the kid could have been in a different life.

The expression and the tone are so reminiscent of his brother's "Don't call me Sammy" that Dean can't help his bright smile in the face of it. "Uh-huh. Whatever you say, kid."

~*~~*~

_Sighing as he slides down the wall to sit on the floor, Kangdae attempts to find the words to explain. "My baby sister's here, too. I don't think I ever told you that. She just turned nine a few weeks ago. And... they threatened her. They told me they'd hurt her, kill her if they had to, unless I agreed to bring you back. And I couldn't- I promised my parents I'd take care of her, you know? And they told me they wouldn't hurt you, so I just... did it."_

_As his eyes start to drift closed, Changmin's head falls forward until his chin rests on his chest. "I guess... I can't be too mad. With a reason like that," he says, just barely above a whisper. He can feel the edges of his consciousness fading out with sheer exhaustion; he just wants to rest, not deal with these heavy discussions. The sound of the door opening to the other room filters through the haze, but he doesn’t pay too much attention to it._

_Until the doctor's voice comes on over the intercom again. "Changmin? You might want to sit up and pay attention for this." Perhaps it's the slight edge of gleeful satisfaction in his tone; Changmin gives a small shake of his head and attempts to follow the doctor's instructions. Peeling his eyes open again as he raises his head, Changmin focuses on the movement on the other side of the glass. And his heart drops out._

_Jaejoong, strapped to a gurney. Not panicked, not scared. At least, not for himself. Instead, the expression in his eyes seems to be heartbroken, apologetic as he looks through the window to meet Changmin's gaze. Changmin continues staring as the doctor attaches pads and wires to strategic point on Jaejoong's arms, his legs, his temples._

_It's all too familiar to Changmin, too reminiscent of a treatment he'd been through far too many times before his first escape. One of the things they'd always been sure to keep him completely aware and conscious for. He can still remember every moment the electro-shock machine shot waves of agony through his every pore. And he can only think he will do **anything they ask** to spare Jaejoong the same memories._

_"He betrayed you, Changmin. He's the whole reason you and your friend are in this position. I'm sure that hurts you, makes you angry. So take your revenge. Let him feel it. After all, it's either him or your real friend here." The doctor's words run through Changmin's head over and over again. Kangdae or Jaejoong. The person who had betrayed him or the hyung who had taken care of him at every turn. It should be such an easy decision._

_But it's not. Not at all. Especially not now that he knows Kangdae's reasons behind it all. If he'd been in the same position, the Centre holding one of his family hostage... But isn't that the position he's in now? Jaejoong, blood related or not, is family._

_Kangdae watches him with a resigned, sad smile. **It's okay, Changmin. Really, it is. Just... do it. Save your friend. But, can you promise me one thing first?** Changmin stares, eyes wide. Shell-shocked. **When you get out of this – because I know you will get out of this – try to find my sister. Take care of her the way I was never able to.**_

_"You're running out of time, Changmin," the doctor's voice breaks in over the intercom. "You'd better do something soon if you want your friend returned in the same condition he arrived." Before Changmin can even really react to the statement, Jaejoong's gasp choked whimpers filter into the room._

_Changmin's eyes snap up to the glass. The doctor looks on with sadistic smile, one hand on the switch for the electro-shock machine, as Jaejoong twitches with the waves of electricity surging through his body. "Stop," he chokes out, eyes never leaving Jaejoong's body. Louder, bordering on a yell: "Stop it! Leave him alone!"_

_Switching off the machine, the doctor looks up at him with a grin. Changmin's heart drops as he turns his gaze from the window to Kangdae. The younger boy just watches him, a sad smile on his face, before giving a reassuring nod. **It really is okay, Changmin. Maybe you're even doing me a favor, right? I mean, I'll finally be completely free of this place.**_

_Tears streak Changmin's face. **Lay down, okay? I don't want to see you fall when...** Kangdae nods again, stretching out on the floor. **It won't hurt. I won't let it. And I promise to do whatever I can for your sister.** Kangdae's smile eases into relaxation, contentment. Changmin reaches out, enters his head first._

_He finds the stream of energy that represents Kangdae's consciousness, a vibrant blue in Changmin's mind. Cinching that off, Changmin watches as Kangdae's eyes fall shut, and then the younger boy is no longer aware of anything going on around him. Changmin goes a little further, locates the deep red line representing Kangdae's life, for all intents and purposes. The one line, pulsing out from the brain, controlling all vital functions: heart beat, organ functions, breathing. Changmin closes it off, watches the colors fade away completely._

~*~~*~

Dean jolts awake to a strangled scream. Shooting straight up in bed, he looks over to check on Max. The younger man is twisted in his blankets, face screwed up in a tortured grimace, and whimpering through clenched teeth. Before Dean can make a decision on whether to wake the kid or not, Max jumps awake, shooting a panicked glance around the room before fumbling on the bedside stand for his cell phone.

He connects a call within moments, and Dean doesn't think the phone on the other end even has time to ring before Max is babbling into his own phone. "Hyung!" Max nearly shouts, probably the loudest Dean has ever heard him. "You weren't- I couldn't- And Kangdae was there, and, hyung, I just..."

Jae must cut him off then, because Max abruptly stops speaking and works on drawing a real breath. In the sudden quiet of the room, Dean can just make out the other man's voice coming through Max's phone, tone even yet firm, though he can't make out any actual words. Finally, Max's breathing returns to normal. "Sorry, hyung," he says, once more the soft voice Dean is used to from him. "Yeah, it was just another nightmare again. When they hurt you, and I... Kangdae... No, I'll be okay now, really. Yeah, yeah, he's right here. Okay. Mm, see you tomorrow." And with those words, Max hands his phone to Dean - who takes it on automatic, still not entirely sure what's going on - then settles back down on his bed.

"Jae?" Dean asks into the phone.

"He doing okay?" Jae questions in response.

A quick glance over shows Max laid out on his back, breath even and eyes closed, though his body is way too tense for him to actually be sleeping. "Yeah, think he's fine. We had a bit of run-in with that yu-rung whatever thing. Got a bit too closer for comfort, so I think it shook him up a bit."

Jae heaves a deep sigh, and it's not a happy-relieved sound. "You guys are heading back tomorrow?"

"Yep, first thing in the morning," Dean assures him

"Okay. Just... hurry back," Jae basically commands, and it says a million things that Jae can't or won't put a voice to. Things that Dean recognizes only from knowing how he'd feel if their positions were reversed: _Bring my boy back to me_ and _I need to see for myself_ and I should be there to help him instead of you and _You better not screw this up_.

"Will do," is all Dean can say in reply.


	3. Part 3

"Can I ask you something?" Max asks, somewhat hesitantly, as he and Sam work together on translating and making notes on another book. When Dean and Max had returned from the failed hunt with Max injured, Jae had gone into full-on mother-hen freak-out mode the level of which had put even Dean's worst overprotective moments to shame. Max had been relegated to research only, and Sam had decided in sympathetic solidarity to keep him company.

With Jae and Dean out on another hunt, they were taking full advantage of the quiet house. They'd talked a lot over the last couple days as they worked, mostly small talk of little consequence as Sam worked on coaxing the painfully shy boy out of his hard-as-diamond shell. It seemed to be working, slowly, and every once in a while Max would reveal another small personal fact. "Yeah, sure," he replies to the tentative inquiry.

"That first day, when I told you guys about me being psychic..." Max ventures then pauses. "Well, I guess there are two questions, really. First, why weren't you guys more freaked out about it? You tensed up a little, but it didn't seem like for the same reason most people usually do. And also, why did you ask about my parents?"

Sam releases a slow breath before setting his pen down on his notebook and leaning against the back of the desk chair. He really should have been expecting these questions. Max is intelligent, bordering on scary levels of brilliance, and Sam can only wonder how much Max's non-traditional education growing up had held him back from fully exploring all that potential. Whatever he should have been expecting, though, sadly, Sam hadn't seen it coming. They'd been focused on other things recently, and that conversation had honestly been pushed to the back of his mind.

"That is, uh, I mean..." he stutters out, not entirely sure what he's even trying to say. He takes a controlled breath to collect himself then tries again. "Dean didn't want me to say anything at first. It's a dangerous secret, and if the information got out to certain people..."

"I'm not going to tell anyone," Max assures him, though he knows that's not really the issue here. Sam wouldn't be even contemplating saying anything if he thought Max would let the secret out. "Well, except Jae, but only because he knows when I'm keeping things from him. And if you think he's annoying normally..."

Sam grins, picturing Jae poking and prodding at Max to get information. It's not difficult to imagine. "Okay, well, the answers to both your questions are actually related. When I was six months old, my mother was killed in my nursery by a demon with yellow eyes. When I was 22, I started having dream premonitions which turned into waking visions, and I also developed some telekinesis.

"Dean and I have done some research and found other children whose parents also died in mysterious fires then developed psychic powers at 22. So when you told us that you had powers, too..." He trails off, letting the statement hang.

Max nods, letting the words process. After a moment, though, his head cocks to the side as his brow lightly furrows. "I'm not 22 yet, though," he points out. "Won't be until February. And I've had these powers my whole life."

"I know," Sam concedes, "but we had to consider the possibility. Beyond actual future-reading sensitives, we've never met anyone with real psychic powers like this. And it wouldn't be a surprise at all for the demon to break pattern to throw everyone for a loop. We had to check."

"Understandable, I suppose," Max agrees with a small smile. "Do you... know what this demon wanted with you and these other children?"

Sam shakes his head. "We know he has plans for us, but we don't know exactly what those plans are. We're researching, trying to close in on the thing, but..."

"A demon of that level doesn't leave a trail unless he wants to," Max finishes the thought, and Sam acknowledges the statement with a sharp nod. "Well, if you ever need help with any of that, even if it's only research, let us know. It's the least we could do for you guys helping us with this thing."

"Thanks," Sam replies simply, now with a small smile of his own.

~*~~*~

_Changmin comes out of his drugged haze sitting up in a chair with his hands strapped down to the table in front of him. He should be panicking, he knows he should, but he feels so weak. Drained. He barely has the energy to hold his head up, and just the thought of freaking out leaves him feeling even more tired._

_Dr. Phillips walks in before Changmin can ponder his situation any further, followed closely by another doctor Changmin kind of vaguely recognizes. "Doctor?" Changmin manages to slur out through a mouth - a body - that responds sluggishly to his demands. "Wha's goin' on?"_

_The doctor's face is hard, cold, unlike the jovial and friendly man Changmin had gotten so used to dealing with. Not that he's had many dealings with the man. Beyond the semi-annual testing all Centre students had to go through, Changmin had been left relatively to his own devices since his parents had left him here. He'd had friends that had been chosen for extra training sessions and practices, but Changmin had largely been ignored by the higher-ups._

_"How old are you now, Changmin?" Phillips asks, pulling the boy out of his meandering thoughts._

_Changmin's brow furrows in confusion, still trying to piece together why he's here, why they're asking his age. Why he's strapped down and drugged. "I... turned fifteen last week," he answers slowly, thankful that his words come out more clearly this time._

_"Fifteen..." Phillips repeats, sounding almost in awe of the fact. "If we had known... If we'd had any clue that you weren't like the others..." Pausing, he stares at Changmin for a stretched-thin moment, and Changmin shifts uncomfortably. "You weren't supposed to live this long, Changmin. Not by a long shot. We should have started your training long before now, but we just never realized..."_

_And Changmin's really not sure what to do with that, how to reply to being told he was supposed to be dead already. "What... what are you talking about?"_

_Phillips brushes off the question as he takes a seat in the chair across the table from Changmin, staring the boy down. "You're going to do something for us, Changmin. Now that we know you're different, we need to find out exactly how different you are. How much you can do. If my theories are correct, the answer to that will be 'quite a lot'."_

_Thoughts still far too muddled and confused, unable to get a handle on the situation, Changmin can do nothing but stare at him. Phillips doesn't hold him in suspense long, grabbing for something under the table then setting a wire cage with a small, black cat next to Changmin's right hand. Changmin's gaze flicks back and forth between the cage and the cloth-covered tray by his right hand for a few seconds before Phillips starts speaking again. "We know you have pretty good control over your abilities, Changmin. Now we're going to push you to expand them. Your first test: put this cat out of its misery."_

_Changmin recoils from the idea, or attempts to at least; his hands are bound far too tightly for him to get very far. "What?" he exclaims, voice stronger than it's been since he first woke up in this room. "No. I- I can't. You can't ask me to do something like that." And finally, Changmin thinks to attempt to use said powers. Something is seriously wrong here, and he doesn't want to stick around any longer to find out how wrong it can go. Nothing he tries works, though, his natural abilities not responding to his commands the way they usually do as if something is blocking him from them._

_Phillips smirks, as if he'd been expecting the response, and pulls the cloth covering off the tray to reveal a series of long, thin, metal needles. The pieces fit together in Changmin's mind: the extreme request plus his bound hands and now the sight of those needles. He's spent enough time in the library over his years here to have a pretty good idea of what they're planning for him. And even so... "No, I can't."_

_The first needle drives in under the nail of his right thumb and brings involuntary tears to his eyes. The fifth, on his pinky, gets the first strangled scream. By the time Phillips finishes with left hand, Changmin is gasping out desperate sobs. As they start with a second round on his right hand, he can only choke out one short sentence. "I won't. I won't. I won't."_

~*~~*~

They'd spent the first couple hours of the trip back to Bobby's in relative quiet, the only noise the music pouring from the speakers. Dean gets the feeling it's not a natural state for Jae by the way the guy keeps shifting and glancing around. Where Max is more reserved and internal, Jae is obviously usually the exact opposite, extroverted and social.

Dean finally has mercy on him and attempts to start a conversation. "You can relax a little, you know. I'm sure he's fine. Bobby would have called if anything had happened." He's not completely sure that Jae's fidgeting stems from his worry over Max, but he figures it's a big enough part that he can use it as a starting point. "And man, I thought I was overprotective."

Jae, for the first time, goes completely still. "It's not... I don't worry about the monsters. Not for the reasons you think, at least. Min's kind of a genius, if you haven't noticed, and he's strong enough that I trust him to take care of most anything that may come after him. I just can't always trust him to take care of himself in the process."

Glancing at the other man from the corner of his eye, Dean notes the lines creasing the corners of Jae's eyes and the tension at his shoulders. "How do you mean?" he prompts. The two are quite the enigma, Max even more so than Jae, and if he can wheedle any answers out of Jae, he's going to take advantage of that.

Jae stares at him, evaluating and assessing. Satisfied by whatever he finds, he finally answers the question. "Min, as you know, didn't exactly have the most normal childhood. Kids at the Centre are apparently taught from very young to clamp down on their emotions. Getting emotional messes with their control over their powers, so they're trained to take emotions out of the equation. To disconnect. It's drilled into them over and over."

And isn't that really one of the most disturbing things Dean's ever heard. Sure, he's taught himself to hide and control his own emotions, but to systematically train _children_ to not only control but completely disconnect... It runs counter to everything a child should be. (At least, it's counter to everything Sammy ever was - is - and as that's about the extent of Dean's experience with children, that's what he has to base his judgment on. Either way, it feels wrong.)

"I know you guys have noticed how reserved he is. When he's amused by something, he gives those tiny little smiles. He very rarely laughs, though it's kinda magical when he does." Jae adds the second part quietly, almost as an afterthought. Dean wonders if he was meant to hear it at all. Before he can think on it too long, though, Jae continues. "I'm sure you assumed, like most people do, that he's only shy, and that is part of it. But it's also that he doesn't always know _how_ to express himself. That he _can_ express himself without... repercussions."

The word hangs, ominous, in the air, and Dean has a good idea of what some of those 'repercussions' may have been. He's seen the scars they've left on Max's body. He stays quiet now. As much as he wants more insight into the pair - especially Max, if he's completely honest with himself - it no longer feels like something he should be asking about. It's too personal, goes too deep.

As if relieved to finally be able to say it all out loud, though, Jae continues talking. "Being so insulated for so long, he doesn't have a lot of real-world experience. He doesn't always react to things the way people normally would. He can't always process a situation properly. Not because he's not smart - he really is - but because he doesn't have the necessary background information or real world context. So... I worry. How can I not?"

"Yeah," Dean agrees. Because while he may not necessarily understand the full scope of Max's position, he can surely appreciate Jae's. No matter what happens, no matter how old they get, no matter how strong or smart they are, how can older brothers ever not worry about their younger brothers?

~*~~*~

Max stares at the book in front of him, rereading the lines again and then one more time. And then a second one more time, to be sure it's real. They'd been searching for what seems like forever now, buried in books and lore, and now... it seems like he may have finally found the answer. "Sam," he says evenly to catch the other hunter's attention, "I think I have it."

Sam hums a reply, but when the words finally click, he nearly drops the book he's searching. "You... what? Seriously? What does it say?"

"Yeah, it's, I mean, it's not perfect, but I think it's as close as we're going to get. It gives us the general idea, at least," he replies. "Very rough translation, it basically says that if a yuryeong feeds from someone with special abilities, it can take on those abilities for itself."

"Well, that makes sense, I guess, but how does it help exactly?" Sam presses.

Max sighs, knowing it's not all the information they need, but at least it's a start. "There was a doctor, one of the researchers that worked under Dr. Phillips at the Centre. He had the power of negation, exactly like this yuryeong does. Psychic powers wouldn't work directly on him or at all within a certain distance from him. So if Phillips has this thing tied to him somehow..."

Pausing to let the words sink in, Sam follows Max's train of thought. "You think Phillips may have sacrificed this other guy to the monster so it'd have his power. That's why yours won't work on it now."

"Yeah. I know it doesn't tell us exactly how Phillips has it leashed or why it's immune to known kill methods, but at least it's a start," Max answers. "One more solved; two more to go."

"It's definitely a start," Sam agrees. "Back to the books? Maybe today will continue being good to us." A weight seems to lift from Max, something that had been pressing down on him since he'd first arrived, with just that one question answered. As the two both lift their books again to keep working, their eyes meet, and Max smiles - full, complete, with his right eye squinting closed slightly more than his left. The expression makes him look so young all of a sudden, much more the 21-year-old he actually is, and Sam can't help his own return smile.

"Two down," Sam announces as a rather abrupt prelude to his discovery a couple hours later. Max looks up from his own book, eyes wide, and Sam grins at him. "This book talks about a ritual that can be used to control a yuryeong. It hasn't been used successfully very often because the person doing the ritual has to get close enough to the thing to get some of its hair then be fast or strong enough to get away without being torn apart. Obviously, not many people can manage that."

Max stares at him for a long moment. "I... yeah, I suppose that makes sense. Guess now we only need..." He trails off as Sam's grin widens. "You've got number three down, too."

"Yep," Sam agrees. "Apparently it's a side effect of the ritual. The yuryeong's life is tied to the life force of whoever controls it. As long as that person is alive and holding the reins, the monster can't be killed."

"So we just have to kill Phillips then take out the yuryeong, and we'll be good to go," Jae concludes as he walks into the kitchen, Dean trailing close behind. Both Sam and Dean stare at him as Max bites the inside of his lower lip. Jae flashes him a quick reassuring smile before looking back at the other two. "What?"

Dean blinks at him, wondering if he's had Jae pegged wrong this whole time. If the guy isn't a bit more bloodthirsty than he first seemed, a little more... unhinged. To talk so casually about offing a human... "You can't- I mean, seriously? There's gotta be a way to break the control so we can kill the yuyu-thingy. Phillips is human; we can't just kill him."

Shrugging, Jae meets his gaze calmly. "Well, maybe _you_ can't."

"Now hold on-" Dean starts to protest. He doesn't get far before Jae cuts him off, though.

"No, I won't 'hold on'," he exclaims, pinning Dean with a heated glare. "Min let this guy live both times he escaped, and Phillips has proven that as long as he's living, he's a threat. We let him walk away from this and it's only a matter of time before he comes back with some new plan to get at Min. And again and again and again until eventually he finds something that we - that I - can't stop. That may not mean much to you; we haven't known you all that long so I don't actually expect it to. But I'm not willing to take that risk. Not with Changmin."

He pauses to take a breath, trying to calm himself down, then looks back to Dean. The man looks torn, half sympathetic but half still wanting to protest. Jae pulls out the last weapon in his argument arsenal. "What if this were Sam instead of Max?" he poses, treading lightly when Dean's expression shifts from argumentative to shock to rage at the perceived threat all in the blink of an eye. "Just consider it for a minute. What if there were something - some _one_ \- out there that wanted to take him, torture him, break him down until he's the perfect mindless weapon? Someone who wouldn't stop, no matter the cost? What line would you draw then, Dean? Where would you stop to keep Sam safe?"

While Jae and Dean continue their stare down, Sam and Max share a look. Knowing what he does now, Max realizes how scarily accurate Jae's 'hypothetical' questions truly are. Understands the reason Dean reacted so strongly to them. "I wouldn't," Dean finally replies, voice quiet but hard as granite.

"Dean..." Sam starts, but Dean waves him off, shooting a quick look at his brother over his shoulder before turning his attention back to Jae.

"You're right," he states. "I wouldn't stop, not if it meant Sam was okay. So, yeah, I get your point. I may not like it, but I get it."

Max stands suddenly, chair clattering to the floor behind him, and all eyes turn to him. "I- I have to... I'm gonna... go out for a while. Take a walk or something," he manages to stutter out before turning for the door.

"Min," Jae starts, grabbing his arm in an attempt to slow Max's retreat. Max simply shakes off the grip and for once, Jae's not sure how to read his mood, whether Max's gesture was more anger or fear. A second later, they hear the front door slam shut.

"What... just happened?" Sam asks, staring at the door Max had disappeared out of before turning to look at Jae for answers. Jae, for his part, shrugs rather helplessly and shakes his head.

~*~~*~

When Max hasn't returned an hour later, Dean finally makes up his mind to go out and hunt the kid down. He's keenly aware of the fact that he'd barely finished speaking when Max had, basically, freaked out, and it's bugging him. Jae's words from his car ride repeat in his head, that Min doesn't have the life experience, doesn't always know how to deal with or react to certain things.

His first instinct takes him to a back corner of the salvage yard, the big shade tree where he'd caught Sam and Max chatting not even a week ago. Max seems like the type to rely on habits and routines so it seems as good a place as any to start. Luckily, Dean's instincts are finely tuned instruments; Max sits under the tree, knees bent up to his chest and his arms loosely wrapped around them as he stares a million miles out.

"Hey, kid," Dean calls out lightly as he approaches. He half expects Max to jump or startle in some way, knowing his training keeps his steps habitually quiet. His other half isn't at all surprised when Max simply turns his head to acknowledge Dean's presence. He knows enough about the kid at this point to realize Max rarely, if ever, lets his guard down. When he isn't immediately dismissed, Dean settles on the ground next to Max.

"Not a kid," Max finally replies quietly, the words lacking any kind of heat or force. Grinning brightly, Dean simply shrugs the rebuttal off. "Was Jae upset with me?"

"Upset?" Dean asks, not quite sure where Max would have drawn that conclusion from. Then again, knowing what he does, he should probably stop trying to guess at the way Max's mind works and simply deal with the curve balls as they come. "Definitely not. Confused and maybe the slightest bit worried but not upset. Not with you." Max nods, accepting the statement, and Dean pauses for a moment before offering, "Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really," Max replies bluntly. Because, really, there was nothing to talk about. He could barely sort his own thoughts over why he'd panicked and run away. Putting any of those thoughts into words that Dean could understand would be an impossible feat. It was something in the emotions that had flowed through and from Dean in that moment when he'd solidified in his own mind what he'd do for his brother. Something in the flare of Sam's own emotions that had responded and complemented Dean's so well, whether they knew it or not.

Whatever the reason for it, he'd only been certain that there hadn't been enough air in the room, and Max had panicked. Thankfully, where Jae - or Sam, as Max was quickly coming to learn - would poke and prod and question all of these scrambled thoughts out of him, Dean seems perfectly content to accept Max's answer while continuing to sit there with him.

"Sam told me," Max admits a few minutes later, seemingly out of nowhere, though Dean's pretty sure there had been a logical thought process he just hadn't been privy to, "about your mom and the demon and his powers.

Dean sighs, more resigned than anything. "Yeah, figured he'd get around to that sooner or later. Most likely sooner. Surprised he held out this long, really." Max quirks a small smile at him that Dean catches out of the corner of his eyes. And really, no matter what they did or did not actually talk about, Dean's counting this mission a success.

They sit out there long enough to watch the sunset, stars slowly lighting up the dark sky. Max stares up at it, relaxing more and more until his chin rests on his knees and all tension falls from his shoulders, but Dean's not entirely sure he's really seeing any of it. His eyes are pointed in the right direction, but his gaze is a million miles away. "We should probably head inside," Dean finally says a while later. "Wouldn't want to give Jae a reason to freak out even more."

Max snorts, a fond smile on his lips. "A freak doesn't need reasons to freak out. It's a natural state for them."

The wry tease surprises a bark of laughter out of Dean, and he slaps a hand on the kid's shoulder. "True enough. Then how about, let's head in because my ass is soaked from sitting on this grass and starting to itch?"

Max grins at him, and Dean gives himself a mental fist bump of victory. Not that he's been on a quest or anything for that exact reaction since their hunt together. At all. Doesn't diminish his sense of accomplishment either, though. Next goal: laughter. Just to make sure the kid's capable of it. With these (completely insane, nonsensical) thoughts running through his head, Dean stands from his seat on the ground. As soon as Max is standing next to him, he starts leading the way back to the house.

And he should have known, really. Should have expected it. Because the moment was too nice, the night too quiet, so something obviously had to break that shit right up.

They're walking in companionable silence, only about 20 feet or so from the porch, when the van comes tearing up the driveway/road. It's big and shiny black, windows tinted dark, and Dean pulls his gun as he puts himself between the vehicle and Max when it skids to a stop right next to them. "Bobby!" he calls, knowing it'll attract both Sam and Jae's attention as well. Max grips his arm, hand clenching tight as if in pain, but Dean doesn't dare take his eyes from the van to check on him.

Bobby's front door opens, the other three exiting the house already armed and ready, as the back doors of the van open and several (huge, hulking, holy-hell-what-did-they-crossbreed-with?) men pour out. Dean doesn't really get nervous, though, until that blue-skinned freak closely follows the giant thugs.

Outnumbered two-to-one not counting the monster, the fight's chaos, just absolute insanity, and it's all Dean can do to keep one eye on Sam while also attempting to take down as many men as he can. Then he loses track of Sam even when he hears Jae yell out a half-panicked, half-angry, "Min!" Dean turns in time to watch the phantom-monster-whatever touch a hand to Max's head, and Max's eyes roll back as the kid collapses unconscious.

One of the small mountains passing as men tosses Max over his shoulder like the kid weighs nothing at all and makes for the van, and Dean's done. He opens fire, screw his no-humans rule, because he's not letting them simply take Max. He starts to second-guess his 'human' conclusion, though, when he hits one at least three times and the guy keeps coming. His fourth shot is to the head, and the man finally goes down.

And that's when he catches Sam's voice, obviously (to Dean at least) frightened, yelling his name. Dean spins, searching through the chaos. It's way too much time, way too long that he can't get eyes on his brother. He finally spots Sam only to watch him go down much the same way Max did, the monster standing right behind him. And the muscle-men are a wall between him and his unconscious brother, doing more to keep him busy and away from Sam than they are to actually hurt him.

Dean roars, unleashing two quick head shots and watching two more bodies drop, but they've already got Sam to the van doors. And as soon as he's loaded in, the thugs file back in as quickly as they'd come out, and the van peels out, spitting dust and gravel from under its tires as it speeds away. The sudden silence is jarring, infuriating. Dean yells out obscenities, just to break that frustrating quiet, then turns to check on Jae and Bobby.

Bobby's got a small trail of blood trickling down the side of his face, but he seems coherent. As pissed as Dean, pretty apparently, but coherent. They share a short look before looking for Jae. The younger man is standing in the road, a wicked-looking knife in his left hand dripping blood while his right grips his gun, and he's staring in the direction the van disappeared. "They're going to kill him," he says, barely above a whisper, the words carrying through the suddenly-still night.


	4. Part 4

Feeling is the first sensation that returns to Max: metal wires seemingly in the form of a chain link fence digging into his back, the chill air over his mostly-bare body, a hammer in his skull, and heavy lethargy. He struggles to move, pull his arms and legs in, before he recognizes the depressingly familiar feel of leather restraints around his wrists and ankles.

Taste comes next, the thick staleness in his mouth telling him how long he'd been unconscious. Hearing follows closely on taste's heels. This one he latches onto, straining his ears to get clues of where he is and who may be with him. He counts at least four distinct sets of footsteps, and the echoing sound tells him he's in a fairly large and mostly empty room.

He assumes by this point that he'll have his sight back as well, but he doesn't particularly care to open his eyes. Until he hears Sam's voice. "What the hell are you doing to him?" He sounds angry, frustrated, maybe a bit scared also though he's covering it well, and Max turns his head in the direction of Sam's voice before fighting his heavy eyelids apart.

Sam kneels on the floor between two of the rock-solid guards, his hands cuffed behind his back. He glares defiantly at someone behind Max. The expression softens, though, when he glances down and meets Max's gaze. He doesn't physically resist the hold on him, but judging by the bruises and scrapes on his face, that's a fairly recent development.

"Calm yourself, Mr. Winchester," replies a voice Max was both expecting and dreading to hear, the smooth British accent sending shivers through him. Always calm, always in control, and all the more terrifying because of it. "We're simply reminding 'Max' here who he really belongs to," Phillips adds.

The words only serve to reignite the fire in Sam's eyes. "He's a human being, jackass," he retorts. "He doesn't belong to anyone but himself."

"There was a time," the doctor replies, and Max can almost hear the smug smirk in his voice, "not so long ago really, that even Changmin would have disagreed with you."

Phillips must give some kind of signal then, because Max can hear shuffling movement around him. Large hands, not Phillips's, grip Max's wrist on either side of the leather cuff holding him to the metal frame. He's angled in such a way, and Sam is in just the right position, that the older hunter has a clear view of whatever they're preparing to do. His eyes widen, panic warring with the anger now, but Max refuses to look away to see what they're doing.

There's a sharp point of pressure in the middle of the leather cuff, and Max struggles not to imagine all the possibilities of what that pressure could be. Then he hears the soft tap-tap-tap, metal on metal. A hammer on a nail. A sharp prick as the point of the nail breaks through the thin skin of his inner wrist. More tapping, a steady ache starting to radiate up his arm as the nail works its way deeper in. There's a short pause, and Max's rapid breaths fill the tense silence. One more solid hit. The nail drives all the way through Max's thin wrist, and he can't hold back the pained scream as his back arches off the rack.

Sam starts struggling again when Max screams. He knows, logically, that there's no escaping the two veritable statues that are holding him, but every instinct in him is yelling that he can't let them do this to Max. It doesn't matter what his instincts are telling him, though. All he can do is watch as another guard holds down Max's second wrist, as Phillips positions another nail and lifts the hammer again. Watch as that hammer swings down, piercing this nail straight through in one blow.

Max's scream this time ends in a harsh, gasping sob. Tears run down his face as he fights to catch a breath, and Sam would give anything to save him from this. He'd known that Max hadn't had it easy at the Centre; the haunted shadows in the kid's eyes told him that much. He'd never imagined, though, never _could have_ imagined, this level of systematic torture carried out on a child. And now all he can do is watch.

~*~~*~

Bobby pulls out all his maps of the area as soon as they get in the house, rolling them all out to see if they can figure out where those bastards might have taken Sam and Max. It's a futile gesture, he knows even as he makes it; they have no clues to work off of, no starting point to even begin to guess where this Phillips guy might be.

Dean stands at his elbow, and they pass ideas back and forth as they track lines and roads with their fingers, starting a list of possible sites to check out. Jae leans against the wall, arms crossed in front of his chest, simply watching them. Bobby would probably be goading him into helping them, but, really, there's not much the kid can do. He doesn't know the area well enough to give much input.

So intent on the maps and discussing plans, Dean barely catches the movement out of the corner of his eye. He turns his head to watch as Jae sucks in a breath, puts one hand to his head while using the other to brace himself on the wall, and clenches his eyes shut. "Jae?" he calls, but the younger man only shakes his head.

Dean trades a look with Bobby, who can only shrug at him. Without knowing what exactly is going on, there's not a whole lot they can offer. Then, seemingly as suddenly as it came on, the attack - or fit, or whatever it was - ends, and Jae sucks in a deep breath. "Shit," he hisses out on the exhale, "I forgot how much it sucks when he does that."

"I think I speak for all of us when I say: Huh?" Dean says in return.

Jae doesn't answer right away, using the hand that had been holding him against the wall to pull out a chair and sink shakily onto it. "Max," he offers as explanation once he settles. "Telepath, right? He can get into my head when he needs to. Usually it's just his voice, which isn't as intense, but other times, all he can manage are images, visions. Always way more intense."

"So that was him trying to communicate?" Bobby questions. "Would hate to see him actually attack someone..."

Snorting softly, Jae gives them a one-shouldered shrug. "It's not painful, not really. Just... strange. Disorienting. But that's not the point. The point is that now at least we've got some clues to go on. And that we need to hurry. If he doesn't have the control or awareness to send me words, he's not in good shape."

Jae fills them in on the hazy, scrambled pictures he managed to pick out of the mess Max had forced into his head: a large - mostly empty - room, random power tools scattered around and seemingly abandoned, swinging metal doors. He doesn't mention the vision of the stone-men dragging Sam out of the room. It gives them no new information, and he can't imagine it'll help Dean keep his head clear.

Luckily, the pieces he can give them seems to spark something in Bobby's brain, and the older hunter searches for a second before pointing out a spot on the map. "Here," he says, quick and decisive. "There's an old factory out there, not much else around for miles. They started work on it last year to get it up and running again, but then the company went under and walked away. It's been empty ever since."

Dean traces the route on the map with his eyes, committing the directions to memory. "I would say let's go in with guns blazing, but with no back up and no idea how many of those mobile brick walls are lumbering around, it might be better to keep things more Mission Impossible."

"You and Jae go," Bobby agrees. "Get the boys, and get out again. I'll hold down base camp here. Too damn old to go sneakin' around like that." And not even five minutes later, he's watching the Impala roar away from the house. Their plan is bare-bones, at best, but it's all they've got.

~*~~*~

Dean maneuvers through the hallways, taking out threats as he encounters them. It'd be nice to stop and interrogate some of them, get answers for where exactly Max and Sam are being kept. He knows, though, that not only do they not have the time, but it would likely cause too much noise and bring reinforcements running. So, instead, he simply drops every guard he comes across. Fewer to fight through on their way out.

He's just taken out one such obstacle, pausing to catch his breath in a long hallway with a few scattered doorways, when his phone buzzes against his thigh. He pulls it out and immediately connects the call when he sees Jae's name on the screen. "Yeah."

"I've got Sam," Jae says, and Dean feels something inside his chest unclench. "He's a bit banged up, mostly bruises and scrapes. Nothing serious. Anything on Min yet?"

Dean is on the verge of breaking the bad news, which is what no news is in this case, when he's stopped by a muffled scream from down the hall. "Think I got 'im," he tells Jae, not bothering to fill in details. "Get Sam out of here. We'll meet at the car." He barely waits to hear Jae's reply before ending the call and stashing it away again.

Moving cautiously down the long hall, Dean keeps one ear open for any noise behind him and listens with the other for any further sounds from Max. He tries every door along the way, but all of the rooms are empty. Until he gets to the set of double swinging doors at the very end. He peers in through the small, cloudy, plastic window, and the scene beyond simultaneously chills the blood in his veins and sends white-hot bolts of rage through him.

Max lies strapped down to what looks like a metal bed frame, extensions built onto each side for his arms so he's affixed to the rack crucifixion style. Leather belts circle his ankles and both arms above his wrists, but other than those and his boxers, Max is completely bare. He has a length of thick rubber tubing clenched between his teeth then wrapped around and tied behind his head. Wires run from the underside of his right wrist to what looks like a power generator. More wires snake from the generator to an instrument in the doctor's hand, essentially bare wires with a rubber handle wrapped around them.

And before Dean can fully process the sight, the doctor touches the wires in his hand to Max's arm, right at the crook of his elbow. Convulsions rip through the thin body, back arching off the frame as another stifled scream streams out through the door.

Not hesitating a second longer, Dean explodes into the room, gun already out and firing into the doctor. He counts at least three solid hits before his gun clicks empty and the man hits the ground, but he hardly spares the body another glance.

He does cringe when he looks down to see Max covered in blood and other bits of the doctor that he'd really rather not think about. Then he looks into Max's eyes. Glassy and unfocused, they obviously take a moment to register Dean's presence. They clear, not completely but enough, and they're suddenly so full of fear and pain and desperation and relief and when the hell did Dean get so good at reading the kid?

Before he can contemplate that fact any further, though, the few remaining guards are on him. He manages to kick the middle one away and connect a solid punch with the one on his left before the guy on his right catches him with a solid hook to the jaw. He lets the hit spin him down into a crouch and uses the moment to draw his knife from the sheath in his boot.

He surges up again, blocking the guy's incoming kick with one arm and thrusting the knife forward with the other. He feels the blade sink into the man's chest, and he almost immediately pulls it free. Pivoting on one foot, he swings the knife around to catch a second guard across the throat. The third man is a few steps behind the second, and Dean switches his grip on the knife. With a flick of his wrist, the blade embeds itself in the guy's ribcage.

He pauses for a second, barely long enough to be sure none of them are getting up again, before taking quick strides over Max.

The kid's a mess, long bloody gashes sliced into his chest and thighs and dark bruises blossoming on his face. His right arm lays at an unnatural angle in the middle of his forearm. Dean doesn't remember it looking like that from his first view of Max, and he wonders if the convulsions while being shocked could have actually been strong enough to break the kid's arm.

Max's eyes are closed, his breathing steady, but his face is screwed up in obvious pain. Dean pulls the makeshift gag from Changmin's mouth first before moving over to the generator, flipping it off then pulling the wires from it for added security. "Max?" he questions as he moves to the kid's side. The younger man's eyes open, hazy but aware. "I'm gonna get you out of here, okay?" he continues as he loosens the restraints around Max's ankles.

Nodding, Max offers him the tiniest of half-smiles. When he finishes with the ankles and lets the belts drop to the floor, Dean moves up to the restraints around Max's wrists. Right as he reaches for the first one, though, Max tenses and starts to shake his head. "No... can't... nails..."

The words are disconnected, confused, and Dean isn't sure what Max is trying to tell him until he looks down at the restraints around Max's wrists again. A weight settles in his gut as he studies the metal pieces centered so perfectly over thin wrists. "Those... aren't rivets, are they?" he asks, already expecting the motion when Max shakes his head again. "Sonofabitch."

He crouches down to get a look at what, exactly, he's dealing with. The wires - and, seriously, why hadn't he questioned what those wires were connected to before now? - are wrapped around the bottom inch or so of the thick nails protruding from Changmin's thin wrist. A small but steady trickle of blood runs down the nail over the wires, dripping off the pointed tip to puddle on the floor underneath. Dean assumes the left wrist looks much the same.

He represses the urge to gag at the sight. If he had tried to pull the restraints off with those nails in, the damage would have been permanent and possibly lethal. Not wanting to jar Max's arms and cause any more pain than necessary, he pulls the wires off the nail as gently as possible. He still hears the quiet gasp when the nails shift with the motion, and he mutters a soft "sorry" as he moves around to check the other wrist. No wires this time, but it's in pretty much the same condition.

With the whole picture now clear in his mind, he addresses the real problem. They had obviously secured Max's wrists to the metal frame with the leather restraints first and then driven the nails through both the restraints and his wrists. Dean can't take off the leather straps without pulling the nails out first, but he can't risk taking out the nails and causing further damage and uncontrolled bleeding this far from the nearest hospital.

"Shit, fuck, dammit," he mutters, casting a quick gaze around for anything that could help him. Anything to give him an idea on what to do here, because he sure as hell can't see a solution right now.

Max's head rolls to the side so he can give Dean a resigned smile. "You can't get me off of here, can you?" he asks, voice weak and breathy.

"Shut up," Dean retorts with a reprimanding glare. "I'm gonna figure this out and get you outta here. You just gotta give me a second." He's determined, but he can still see the doubt in Max's eyes. "Listen to me, okay? Leaving you here is not an option. I _will_ figure something out."

There's still a certain amount of skepticism in Max's gaze, but he nods his head and mutters a quiet "okay" anyway. Dean nods and resumes his search.

Just when he's about to give up, take the risk of pulling the nails out and dealing with the consequences, he spots something back in a far corner of the room that starts the wheels in his head turning. He jogs over and scoops the object up, hoping beyond hope that the blowtorch is still functional.

He adjusts the necessary knobs before pulling the ignition switch, watching as a thin blue flame immediately springs to life. Smirking in relief, he moves past Max first to retrieve his knife - stopping long enough to clean the blade on the dead guy's shirt - before heading back to the kid's side. "Got it. We'll have you outta here in no time, kid."

Max scowls at him, the expression weakened but comfortingly familiar, as Dean holds the flame to the blade of his knife. "'m not a kid," he protests, though Dean only grins at him as usual when he points out this fact. The words come slowly, though, his body lethargic and responding sluggishly to his commands. He knows the last thing he needs is to fall asleep, so he attempts to keep a conversation going. "So what's this genius escape plan you've got?" he manages to gasp out barely above a whisper.

Dean flashes him a worried look, obviously picking up the growing weakness in his voice, but doesn't comment on it. "We're gonna burn you out of here," he replies instead, holding up the knife and blowtorch to Max's eye level. Another few seconds should work, he thinks. "Don't wanna try to cut you out and risk that nail moving around, but I think if I get the blade hot enough, I should be able to use it to burn through the leather."

"Mm, 'kay. Sounds good," Max slurs out, eyes drifting shut even as he struggles to pry them open again. He manages, barely, but each successive blink takes more and more effort to come back from. He's just so tired, exhausted and pushed beyond his limits, and he trusts Dean to take care of him. He's not sure why; he's never really trusted anyone beyond Jae, but like with Jae, he finds that trust comes so easily with the Winchester brothers.

Deciding that the metal is finally hot enough, Dean releases the trigger for the flame and holds the sharp edge of his knife to the leather. As strong as the restraints are, they're also relatively thin, and the red-hot blade in his hand has little trouble melting through. He turns on the flame to reheat the knife then repeats the process on the other side of Max's right wrist.

The bottom of the restraint falls away when he gets through, and he looks up at Max with a triumphant grin. The kid's eyes are closed, breathing thin but even at least. Dean's smile fades. "Max? You still with me, kid?" he asks.

"Yeah," Max groans out in reply without opening his eyes, and Dean lets out the breath he'd been holding. "Just... hurry. Tired."

Dean wishes he could reach out and reassure the kid, a touch to his shoulder or head or anything, but he can't seem to find a single spot that looks like it doesn't hurt like hell. "I know you are. One down and one to go, okay? Almost done," he tells Max instead as he moves around the frame to reach his other wrist.

Max nods then moans weakly when the movement sets the world behind his eyelids spinning. He swallows a few times, fighting down the nausea swirling in his stomach, and waits for the dizziness to pass. He takes a deep breath then attempts to continue the conversation. "Did'ja find Sam?" he manages to slur out.

"Jae's got him. We're gonna meet them at the car when I get you out of here," Dean tells him, and Max feels the tension fall away from the restraint on his left wrist as it had a minute before on the right. He knows he's free now, but he can't find the will - or strength - to move.

Dean flips the blowtorch off and tosses it aside then does the same with the knife a moment later. It's a cheap one, nothing fancy, and he doesn't want to waste the time it would take to wait for it to cool down. Standing from his crouched position, he contemplates Max for a long minute. The kid obviously won't be walking out under his own power, but Dean isn't quite sure how to carry him without hurting him further.

Finally, after running through all his options, he settles on the course that seems like it would hurt Max the least. He's sure there will still be some pain involved, but there's really no way to avoid that at this point. Not with as injured as the kid is. "Alright, Max," he starts to keep from scaring the younger, "I'm gonna get you up now, okay?"

He only receives a tiny nod in reply, but he's just grateful to be getting a response at all. As carefully as possible, he lifts Max's left arm and drapes it across his chest then moves back around to his right side. Even more gently, he rests the broken arm over Max's body as well then takes off his jacket to drape it over Max. It's a testament to how far gone the kid is that he only receives a light moan. Then, slowly, he slides one arm under Max's knees and another under his shoulders before lifting him straight up off the rack.

Dean braces himself for the weight. Max is about as tall as he is, and while Dean doesn't necessarily expect a similar weight to his own bulk, he's certainly expecting more than the bird-bone lightness he gets. The kid really is mostly skin and bone, probably not much over 140 or so. The difference from what he'd been expecting makes the lift almost easy. Still awkward with as tall as Max is, especially since he's mostly leg, but at least he's not heavy as well.

Max lets out a low cry at the movement, head rolling to rest against Dean's shoulder. Dean fights off the protective instinct yelling at him to tighten his hold. As much as it would reassure him that Max is safe and secure, he knows it would also cause more unnecessary pain.

Unfortunately, the position doesn't leave any of Dean's hands free, and he hopes with every fiber of his being that he took out enough of the guards on his way in. Carrying him like this, there's no way he could set Max down fast enough to reach a weapon if they run into any trouble.

Heading out into the hall, Dean retraces his steps quickly but carefully. Max has gone limp and silent in his arms, and he doesn't like the possible implications of that fact. He can't even risk the time it would take to stop and check the kid's pulse to reassure himself, so instead, he focuses on getting them both out of the building as quickly as possible.

Miraculously, the Winchester luck seems to be taking a holiday, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief when they finally emerge into the cool night outside. Max's head rolls on his shoulder as he makes his way to where they left the car, and he feels the small huff of air on the side of his neck as a soft moan reaches his ear. "I've gotcha, Max," he reassures. "Almost there."

The Impala finally appears in front of him, and he can make out the silhouettes of two figures inside. They must spot him at the same time; the back doors open almost simultaneously, and Sam and Jae rush toward him. "Min?" Jae calls as they get close. "Oh, God, Minnie..." He trails off into a stream of Korean, and though Dean can't understand a single word of it, he can make out the clear panicworryfear in the tone. He's sure it's how his voice sounds every time Sam's hurt and unconscious.

"Help me get him into the back," Dean orders, mostly to Sam since Jae seems too far lost in his distress. Something must filter through, though, because Jae climbs into the back seat then holds his arms out to accept Max's still body. "Don't let his arms move too much. At least one of them's broken." Jae nods his understanding, still muttering soft Korean into Max's ear.

Dean pauses for a moment, and Sam watches him carefully. "Is he... Do you think he'll..." his younger brother struggles to ask. He doesn't manage to get a full question out, but Dean has a feeling he knows what Sam means.

And Dean can only shake his head, not quite sure how to answer. "I don't know, Sammy. I just don't... We gotta go," he finally says shaking himself and moving around the car to the driver's seat as Sam climbs into the passenger side.

Jae hasn't stopped his quiet stream of Korean as he runs his fingers through Max's hair and over his face. Dean lets the strange words slide over his frayed nerves, the softly lilting language somehow comforting despite its unfamiliarity. He starts the car and peels away, speeding out of the warehouse complex as Sam grabs Dean's phone to search for the nearest hospital. _He'll be okay_ , Dean tells himself as he glances in his rearview mirror at Max. _He has to be._


	5. Part 5

"They made me watch," Sam states, voice hollow, as they wait in barely-cushioned, vinyl-covered chairs for word from the ER. "I tried to get away, to help him, but man... Those guys were made out of marble or something. Couldn't do anything when they put those nails in him."

Dean doesn't reply. Because, really, what can he say to something like that? It's okay? Clearly, it is very much _not_ okay. You tried your best? Sam never has reacted well to that one. Always felt it was patronizing or something. Dean can't really blame him. It's not how he'd mean it; he knows Sam would have done everything he possibly could. The words, though, always seem to come off a little hollow.

So Dean chooses to say nothing, clapping a hand to Sam's shoulder when Sam lets his head thunk back against the wall. Jae pauses from his pacing on the other side of the waiting room to check on the noise before resuming his restless stride again. Bobby bursts into the waiting room then, outwardly calm except for the frantic way his eyes dart around the room to find them. Dean stands from his chair, meets Bobby halfway across the room to fill him in.

And then they all continue to wait, glancing at the door every time it opens to let someone new in. Hours pass. Other groups, other families, get news and updates. Jae finally wears himself out with his pacing and collapses into the chair next to Sam then eventually falls into a light sleep. Sam stares at him for a minute, a look that Dean fully intends to badger his brother about later.

The sun is barely starting to rise outside the windows when a seemingly familiar doctor enters the room. For a long second, Dean's not sure if it's because he's seen so many doctors come and go through the night. Then the doctor calls for the family of 'Max Kim', freakin' finally. Jae jolts awake, barely takes a moment to collect himself before rushing over to the doctor. Dean, Sam, and Bobby follow right behind him. The doctor hesitates when he sees them approach, but Jae simply waves him on.

"Yes, as I was saying," the doctor continues, "it was a miracle to start with that those nails managed to miss all major blood vessels and such on the way in. Well, either a miracle or someone really knew what they were doing. The procedure to remove them was quite delicate. We had a couple close calls, but we did manage to get them out without much additional damage, none of it serious. His vitals dropped a couple times while he was on the table, but you said he was shocked, right?" He pauses long enough for Jae to confirm the statement. "We're comfortable with saying his vitals were more from the electroshock treatment than any blood loss, since the nails did manage to keep him from bleeding out too much.

"We treated the burns from whatever they were using to shock him then went in and set the broken arm. We've got that arm in a cast to his elbow, though we had to cut holes in the wrists over the nail holes so we have to access to clean and treat those. A couple of the cuts on his torso required a few stitches each, but most of them were rather shallow. The rest was all fairly superficial, bruising and such. No signs of a concussion. He's not out of the woods by any means, but barring any serious complications, he should make a complete recovery."

Jae visibly sags at the words, and Sam barely manages to get an arm around his waist to support his weight. He pulls himself together quickly, though, muttering a soft "sorry" to Sam as he gets his legs under him again before turning to the doctor. "When can we see him?"

The doctor offers a small smile, gentle and practiced. "They're taking him to a room right now. A nurse will come and get you when they've got him settled. Shouldn't be too terribly long, maybe 15 minutes to half an hour." They thank him, and he gives each of them a brief yet firm handshake before walking away.

"You okay, Jae?" Sam asks as they sit down again for the hopefully short wait until they can see Max.

Perched on the edge of his chair, Jae bobs his head in a quick nod. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine now. It was just... I was preparing for bad news, y'know? And, I don't know, I guess it really hit me when he said Min was gonna be okay." Sam places a reassuring hand on Jae's knee, and Jae gives him a small smile. Another interaction Dean files away to pester Sam with.

True to the doctor's word, a nurse shows up maybe 20 minutes later to show them the way to Max's room. She finally stops in front of a door, a couple floors up and several twists and turns through maze-like hallways, opening it softly and ushering them through.

Max is staring at the ceiling when they enter, though he turns his head to give them a small smile as they approach the bed. "Hey, Min-ah," Jae says, and Dean's starting to recognize that tone he gets when he's slipping into Korean. "Gwenchana?"

"Neh, hyung, gwenchana," Max replies.

"Liar," Jae returns, though the word is softened by Jae's fond tone and the way he takes Max's unbroken hand between his.

Max rolls his eyes, and the gesture has as much affection behind it as Jae calling him a liar. "Really, Jae, I'm okay. I'm still coming off anesthesia, and they're giving me the good drugs. I'm fine. Ask me in a few hours and that answer may be different." His gaze finally slides past Jae to look at the rest of them, coming to rest on Sam. "Sam. They didn't hurt you, did they?"

He sounds so anxious, forehead creasing with guilt, that Sam rushes to reassure him. "I'm okay. They got a couple hits in when I tried to run one time, but they pretty much left me alone other than that." The lines on his brow smooth out as Max nods his relief, and his eyes close even as he obviously tries to fight them open again.

"Go to sleep, Minnie-ah," Jae gently commands. "We'll be here, promise."

~*~~*~

Dr. Streif - Jae had finally managed to memorize the guy's name halfway through the third day - is finishing a check-up on Max's wrists when Jae re-enters the room after lunch. "So I'm good to go home now?" Max asks with a small but excited smile.

"Whoa, wait a second," Jae interrupts before the doctor can reply. "He hasn't even been here a week."

Max rolls his eyes. "Half a day shy of a week, Jae. I'm not gonna stay here an extra 12-ish hours to satisfy some imaginary timeline in your head," he snarks, pausing to smile a greeting at Dean and Sam as they enter. "Dr. Streif says I'm healing really well, and I want to go home."

"We really only kept him this long to keep an eye out for infection and make sure those holes in his wrists started closing the way they should," the doctor adds in Max's favor. "Seems as though we managed to hold off any infection, though, and the wounds show the signs of healing just fine. There's really no other reason to keep Max here any longer. Any wound care we provide here can be done as easily at home."

"Min..." Jae trails off, not quite sure how to voice his thoughts. That they don't actually have a home to go back to. That cheap motels are not ideal places to be cleaning open wounds like the ones on/though Max's wrists. That he's not entirely sure where they're going to go from here.

As if sensing these thoughts, Dean steps forward to stand at the foot of Max's bed and sets a reassuring hand on the kid's lower leg. "We just finished getting the bathroom on the first floor scrubbed and bleached, and the living room is cleaner than I think I've ever seen it. Still only the pull-out couch bed in there, but it's gotta be better than the hospital."

Max absolutely beams at that, grinning at Dean and Jae in turn before including Sam in the moment as well then turning to Dr. Streif. "Release papers, please?" he asks.

As the doctor pulls out the papers and starts to explain care instructions and such with Max, Jae turns to Sam and Dean. "You guys really didn't have to do all that. We would've been- I would have figured something out. It was one thing to stay while we were working the case, but now..."

Sam shakes his head, holding up a hand to silence Jae's protests. "Bobby insisted, really. Don't tell him I said anything, but I think he's developed a bit of a soft spot for Max. He's had us working all week to make sure everything's clean enough."

"Give it a couple weeks," Dean offers when Jae still looks hesitant, "until he gets some scabs over those holes. You can leave after that if you want, but at least give Max that much time."

Jae raises his hands in defeat, conceding, "Okay, okay. Fine. As long as you guys promise to let me know if we start to wear out our welcome."

"I don't think that'll be a problem," Dean replies, lightly tapping at the leg still under his hand, "but you've got a deal."

~*~~*~

They've just finished dinner and settled in - Bobby, Sam, and Max with books and Jae and Dean in front of the TV with Dean in control of the remote - when the knock sounds on the door. It's unexpected, and they all exchange a look before drawing weapons or, in Max's case, simply setting himself on alert. Bobby moves to answer the door while the other three instinctively take defensive stances in front of Max. Though his wrists have healed a lot in the last two weeks, they're still mostly incapacitated, and he'll be an easy target if it comes down to a hand-to-hand fight.

"I am sorry to intrude," a heavily accented voice floats in from the now-open doorway, though Dean couldn't say where the accent originates. "I am looking for Jaejoong and Changmin. I wish to speak with them if they are available."

Bobby holds his shotgun down at his side, not yet quite suspicious enough to point it at this stranger. Judging by looks, the guy's Korean like the two boys inside, and he'd hate to run off a potential friend of theirs. "Whaddayou want with them?" he questions.

Moving right behind Bobby, Dean gets a look at their visitor over Bobby's shoulder. Asian, obviously. Maybe college-aged or slightly older. Straight, jet-black hair disappears behind his shoulders so Dean can't quite tell how long it actually is. The top section is tied back in a loose ponytail, and Dean can't tell whether the hairstyle is a statement or some kind of historical roleplay. Something about the guy's face tugs at the back of Dean's mind, but he can't quite place it.

"I have some... issues... to discuss with them," the man replies to Bobby's question. "I mean them no harm, I promise."

Dean shoots a look over his shoulder at Jae and Max. Their visitor, their call. They trade a look, and Dean gets a feeling - not for the first time - that they're having a conversation no one else can hear. Knowing Max's powers, it wouldn't surprise him in the least. They finally break the stare, Jae looking rather unhappy with whatever's been decided, and Max gives Dean a permissive nod. Dean taps Bobby's shoulder twice to give him the signal, and Bobby cautiously ushers the guy in with a blunt warning about having weapons and not being afraid to use them.

The man enters the living room, and Max's eyes widen almost immediately in surprise. Dean gets the feeling he missed something big - and judging by the others' reactions, he's not the only one - when Max half-snaps out, "What are you doing here?"

"I meant what I said at the door," the man replies, raising his hands in front of him. "I have not come here to hurt any of you anymore."

And when it hits him, Dean feels about as stupid as a human can get while still functioning in society. " _This_ is its human form?" he bites out as he raises his gun. Max puts out a hand to stop him, though, and he reluctantly decides to trust that the kid knows what he's doing.

"Yeah," Max answers, though Dean's question was mostly rhetorical, "this is him. I don't... He doesn't... He feels different. I believe him. He really isn't here to do anything to us." He tells them all of this while maintaining eye contact with the perfectly-human-looking creature, and Dean can't help thinking how really freakin' weird his life has gotten when the monster in their living room seems to almost slump in relief.

"Please, allow me to introduce myself," the monster starts. "My name is Hyunshik. I was born 347 years ago in northern Korea near the Chinese border, and I have never, in all my years, killed before. Until that man came with his team, captured me, and completed the ritual to tie me to him." He turns to look at Dean then. "I thank you for killing him, for freeing me. I tried to fight the compulsion as much as possible, but I wasn't strong enough. Only his death broke his control over me."

Dean blinks at him, not entirely sure what he's supposed to do with that. "So... what? We're supposed to take your word for it that you were under some kind of spell or something? Let you walk like you didn't murder a dozen or so people?"

As Hyunshik's weighted gaze drops to the floor, Dean can suddenly see every one of the 300-plus years the guy's been alive. "I expect nothing," he replies, heavy sorrow lacing his tone. "I only wished to explain myself, to tell you that you have nothing to fear from me now. If you decide to kill me, I trust that it is no less than I deserve."

"And why should we believe you?" Jae jumps in.

Hyunshik shrugs, a gesture so modern and human in direct contrast to his oddly formal way of speaking. "You do not have to. I can see why you would not. I can only tell you that, yes, I am a yuryeong. It is the way I was born. But I am half human, as well. The full-bloods died out long ago, and there are few of us half-bloods left. For the most part, we prefer our human sides. We change only when feeding and do that only as absolutely necessary. We do not kill the humans we feed from. We take what we need, perhaps leave them slightly fatigued for a few days, but we do not kill."

"And if we hadn't gotten to you, someone else would have," Min concludes, as if he knew exactly where Hyunshik had been leading.

The man dips his head in acknowledgment. "There is a council that governs us. If any get out of hand, become careless, they are... taken care of."

"That would explain why we've never run into any of your kind before. Your council gets rid of any threats before any hunters even figure out there's a problem," Sam muses, and the man/monster nods again.

The group falls into momentary silence as they all process the situation. Finally, though, Bobby breaks the moment. "So? What's the verdict, boys?"

"Let him go," Max whispers, glancing once at Hyunshik then turning his gaze to the floor.

"What?!" Jae exclaims, eyes wide as he looks at Max's down-turned head. "You can't seriously... Min, he's killed people. He handed you over to Phillips and left you to be tortured. How can you possibly-"

"It's not his fault!" Max yells, the loudest any of them except Jae had ever heard him. "He couldn't help it, not anymore than any of those possessed people we've done exorcisms on could. Don't remember you ever suggesting we put _them_ down like rabid dogs." His tone is filled with venom, and he stares at them with a hard glare. They all stare back at him, shocked at his sudden ferocity.

Dean shakes his head, gathering himself enough to attempt a response to Max's clear accusation. "Max, that wasn't..." He trails off, not sure how he was meaning to finish. That wasn't what they were suggesting? But, really, it kind of was. Is. "He feeds off people, Max. You heard him say that yourself."

"But he's never killed anyone," Max protests, a pleading note sneaking into his still-frantic voice. "Not under his own power. If it weren't for Phillips, we wouldn't even know he exists. His kind have never made problems before. He could have disappeared while I was in the hospital. Not like any of us were looking for him then. But he didn't. He's here, admitting what he did even though we already _knew_ he wasn't in control and it's just... It's not..."

He's fighting back tears, unable to finish his thoughts, and Dean suddenly wants nothing more than to go back in time, never let the strange Asian man in the door so they wouldn't be dealing with this issue at all. Hyunshik speaks then, calm and placid, patience gained over three centuries. "It's okay, Changmin. I understand."

"It's _not_ okay, and I _don't_ understand!" Max explodes, tears finally escaping his eyes the same time the windows in the room shatter. It's such a blatant display of power, a reminder of exactly what Max could be capable of if he loses control, and they all go freeze-frame still. Max raises his hands to cover his mouth, the tears still slip-sliding down his face. "I'm sorry. Oh god, I didn't mean- I just-" And before any of them can really react, he bolts from the room and out the front door.

They all stare after him, Dean muttering something about kids who keep running away before he turns and shoots a pointed glare at the monster-man. "You. Leave. And know that if we hear even a hint of a rumor about you, we will hunt you down. Don't make me regret this."

Hyunshik nods his understanding, bows in Jae's direction, then quickly disappears out the front door also. The four of them stare after him in silence for a stretched-thin minute. "Sorry about the windows," Jae finally says in Bobby's direction after an awkward quiet. "I haven't seen him lose control of himself like that in... a while. A long while."

Bobby shrugs, not actually terribly concerned about the damage. "This house has seen weirder shit," he states, resigned, "and will probably see worse in the future. He gonna be okay?"

Jaejoong snorts. "Maybe. Someday. Depends on your definition of 'okay', I suppose." He sighs, and it suddenly hits Dean then, the realization of how young Jae really still is. They focus on Max as the youngest, and Jae usually carries himself - and Max, when he needs to - with such confidence. For all the responsibility he takes on, though, Jae is less than half a year older than Sam; he looks it in that moment, lost and worried and unsure. And then, with a roll of his shoulders, he pulls himself back together and raises his head again. "I'm gonna go talk to Min. He always beats himself up when he has these slips so I don't wanna leave him out there alone," he explains before walking out the door in Max's and Hyunshik's footsteps.

~*~~*~

Max hadn't gone far. Or, if he had, Jae had dragged him back closer to the house. As Bobby, Dean, and Sam start hanging plastic in the empty frames of the broken windows, Dean spots the two perched on the hood of one of the clunkers in front of the house. Max has his legs pulled up to his chest, arms crossed over the front of his legs though his right hand hangs down over his left leg, playing with a loose thread on his jeans. His lips press together in a flat line, and deep furrows crease his forehead where his brows draw together.

Jae sits cross-legged next to him, half-turned in Max's direction with his left hand resting on Max's arm. He speaks rapidly while Max seems to listen and nod his acceptance or understanding of whatever Jae is saying to him. Dean assumes that if he could get close enough to hear them that they'd be speaking in Korean. Before Dean can contemplate much more, though, Bobby snaps at him to "stop daydreamin' and make yourself useful. Idjit."

"Said with all the love in the world, right, Bobby?" Dean asks, overly sweet. Bobby simply scoffs, but if Dean had been expecting any reply, it would have been more a slap over the head than anything else. He staples the last corner of the plastic in place, obscuring his view of the two Koreans still deep in discussion outside.

~*~~*~

The two finally wander back in a while later, Max still looking rather subdued but not nearly as panicked and distressed as when he'd run out. "Sorry, Bobby," he apologizes as he gazes around at the damage. "Moments like this make me wish my powers worked in reverse, too."

"Don't worry about it, kid," Bobby dismisses with a wave of his hand. "Things happen."

Max offers him a small smile, and he and Jae settle back into the seats they'd been in before their unexpected visitor had interrupted the evening. "We were thinking, actually," Max starts, and Dean has a bad feeling he knows what's coming, "that it's about time we get back on the road. With Phillips gone and the yuryeong no longer a threat..." Trailing off, he worries at the same loose thread at his knee that he'd been messing with while talking with Jae outside.

"You're leaving? Are you sure your wrists are healed enough for that?" Sam questions, brow creased and lined.

Jae quirks an eyebrow at him, as if to say, 'You really think I'd consider this otherwise?' Dean has to agree, it is a rather stupid question. He understands Sam's deeper motivation in asking it, though, and he can't say he doesn't feel the same way. This is the furthest they've let anyone into their lives in a long time, and it'll certainly be strange when Jae and Max are gone.

Max notices the exchange but chooses not to comment on it. "It'll be fine, Sam," he replies instead, sparing a quick glance to his bandaged wrists. "We're gonna take it easy until they're completely healed, but it's not like I generally get too close to the real action anyway."

"You boys ain't plannin' to leave tonight, are you?" Bobby asks as he checks the time on his watch.

Shaking his head, Jae finally relaxes back into the couch. "Nah. We thought we'd give it a couple days maybe. Take the time to find a new hunt, have a solid destination when we do take off. Give Min a bit more time to heal up some more."

"Alright then. That... sounds like a plan to me," Dean states. He tries to keep his tone carefree, nonchalant, hoping to cover up the odd reluctance he couldn't explain even if he wanted to. He's not sure how well he succeeds.

~*~~*~

"Hey, Sam," Max says as he curls up in the armchair, leaning against the right arm with his legs tucked up underneath him.

Sam sets down the book he'd been browsing, stretching out along the couch to work out the kinks in his legs and back and shoulders. A quick glance at the clock tells him he'd lost track of time again, too many hours in one position as he lost himself in the book. "Hey, Max. How's the great hunt search going?"

Max gives him a one-shouldered shrug before answering. "Not great. Jae's got a couple leads he's looking into, but he's rejected a bunch already for being either too much of a risk for me or not being our thing. Two days ago, I figured he was only being cautious. Yesterday, I bumped him up to paranoid and a major worry-wart. Today, I'm starting to wonder if he really wants us going anywhere at all."

The words have a tinge of frustration behind them, but the soft half-smile on Max's lips offsets the tone. Sam smiles, only too familiar with how he's likely feeling. "Are you that anxious to get on the road again?"

"No," Max replies, no hesitation. "I don't necessarily miss life on the road. It's just... weird, I guess. We never really dared to stay in one place too long before, not wanting to give Phillips a chance to locate us. I guess it hasn't really hit me that that's not an issue any longer."

Sam wonders if that's how he'll feel when they finally kill the yellow-eyed demon, when the threat that's been hanging over their heads since he was six months old is finally eliminated. He used to think he would finally be able to have that "normal" life he'd always wanted then, but that was when the possibility was still a far-off fantasy. Now that everything seems to be coming to a head, that the reality will apparently be sooner rather than later, he's really not sure what to imagine anymore. "Did you... want to talk about something?" he finally asks.

"Hm?" Max hums in reply, slowly coming out of the thoughts he'd lost himself in. "Oh, no. Well, yes, but not about that. I actually wanted to throw this idea at you, give you some time to think it over before we have to leave."

Brow furrowing, Sam attempts to work out exactly what Max is leading up to. "What kind of idea?"

Max shifts a bit in his chair, a light flush coloring his cheeks as he avoids making eye contact. He's comfortable enough around them now to let down some of his walls, and moments like this make him look so much younger; it brings out ever older-brother protective instinct Sam never knew he had. "It's... a way for us to keep in touch once Jae and I are gone. Kind of an emergency contact, in case you don't have access to a phone or can't get us on ours or something."

"Okay..." Sam replies, dragging the word out. "You may have to explain that a little more, because I still have no idea what you're talking about."

"Ah, yeah." Max's blush deepens as he flashes Sam an embarrassed half-smile. "If you agree, I can set up a link between us so we can talk to each other telepathically. Like I said, it would mostly be for emergency situations and such, but I thought it might be a good fallback to have in place. Just in case."

Sam blinks as the idea settles into his mind. He'd known, intellectually, that Max is a telepath; he'd never considered being able to do it himself. "You can do that? Even though I've never shown any signs of telepathy?"

Max nods. "Yeah. It'll take a bit more effort than if you were a telepath yourself, but it still won't be too difficult. It requires some kind of psychic power as a basis, which is why I didn't suggest getting Jae and Dean in on it, too."

"That... makes sense, I suppose," Sam replies, starting to wrap his head around the idea. It's a good idea, really, to have some way of contacting Max that doesn't require a working/in-tact/accessible phone. "Okay, yeah, sounds good. What do we need to do?"

This time, it's Max's turn to blink at him. "You don't want to think about it some more? Talk it over with Dean or anything?"

It's a legitimate concern, and Sam's sure he's gonna hear it from Dean when his brother finds out he's done this without discussing it first. But talking about it with Dean isn't likely to change his mind on this being a good idea, and he trusts Max more than almost anyone that isn't family. "It's fine," Sam replies, waving the questions away. "Better to ask forgiveness and all that, right? So, do I need to do anything?"

Max shakes his head, somewhat reassured by Sam's laidback manner, and stands from his seat. "No, just stay right there. It might feel a bit... strange... once the connection's in place, so most people find it easier to be sitting or lying down. I'll have to put my hands on the sides of your head to get it done. You just need to relax and let me in. Shouldn't take more than a minute or so." Reaching out, Max pauses long enough to get Sam's final permission. Sam draws a deep breath, settles back against the couch, and nods at Max to continue.

Sam isn't sure what he was expecting: some kind of spark or shock, something intrusive. Contrary to expectations, though, Max's hands are warm, barely on the right side of too warm. Soothing, almost, in a way. He can feel the warmth sinking in, searching. Some part of him thinks he should be panicking at the feeling, fighting it off, but he finds himself actually relaxing into it instead.

When Max pulls away, Sam's head feels heavy and weightless at the same time, and he can see why Max warned him to stay on the couch. It's not a particularly uncomfortable feeling as much as... strange. He's still adjusting when Max tests the connection. _Can you hear me?_ And, yeah, there's no doubt that that's definitely Max's voice in Sam's head.

"Yeah," Sam breathes out, shell-shocked. "How do I...?"

Max shakes his head. _Don't use your voice. Just, kinda... think at me. Psychic powers are really just intention concentrated. Focus on what you want to do then go for it._

And for as abstract as the statements really are, Sam thinks that's the best way he's ever heard powers like theirs summed up. He forms the words he wants Max to hear, gives them space in his head, then pushes them in Max's direction. _This is... really weird. Did it work?_ He doesn't really need any words in return; Max's uneven-eyed grin gives him the answer.

~*~~*~

Three days later, they're watching Jae and Max pull away from the salvage yard, heading southeast to a fairly straightforward haunting in Georgia. "Jae's still obnoxious," Dean states as the car pulls out onto the main road, a teasing glint in his eye belying the edged tone, "but I might miss the kid a bit."

Sam grins, knowing that means the pair has Dean's official stamp of approval. He sends a message to Max, having to push a bit harder to get that now-familiar slide to indicate Max had received it. _Dean says he hopes we see you guys again soon._

A small chuckle filters back, and while he still hasn't heard Max laugh outside of their heads, Sam will take what he can get. _Liar._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished! There is a sequel in the works, almost finished, that addresses more Spn canon and where the guys go from here. I'll probably start posting it within a week or so; hopefully there'll be some interest in it. ^_^


End file.
